Life — September 8, 1921 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

With Apologies to Coerylody Under the Spreading Horse-Chestnut Tree LIFE THE teacher had just. asked the ques- tion: “Can any little boy or girl here tell me what is the capital of France?” No Mr. Mealing was known as.an inveterate baseball fan, On one particularly hot day he was sitting with a group of friends watching a close contest. “Phwats th’ differince bechune a man wid a glass eye an’ a glass uv beer?” said Pat. “Weel,” replied Sandy, “A’m no’ verra’ gude a’mekkin’ a reedle, bu’ there’s mickle a mon wi’ no’ sa vurra gude a muckle a’ that.” All Washington was laughing the next “Then why don’t they fly troubled query. And then the fight began. one seemed able to answer when suddenly a little freckled-faced boy in the back of the room held up his hand. “Well, Johnny,” said the teacher, “do day, Secretary Mealing loudest of all, although the joke was in a way “on him.” OLD UNCLE “JOHN,” who ran the you think that you can tell me the name of the capital of France?” . . es’m,” said Johnny, with a twinkle in well, then, go ahead,” replied the “I’m sure we shall all be, glad to know what the capital of France is.” “Paris,” said Johnny, meekly. School was thereupon excused for the day. BOBBY, aged seventeen, was saying his “Mumsy,” he said, “do the an- prayers. AN amusing anecdote is told of John M. gels have wings?” Mealing, former Secretary of the Interior. “Yes, dear,” replied his aunt. grocery store on the corner, was dozing behind the fruit counter. A customer en- tered and, seeing no one in attendance, went out again. Soon another cust came in and, looking about for a clerk, also became convinced that there was no one in the store, and he too went away. The same thing happened four or five times. All the time the old man slept Suddenly a fly lit on the end of his nose and he roused himself with a start. “Ho, hum,” he murmured; “it must be almost five o'clock.” “Why?” With Apologies to TOWN TOPICS Saunterings ELDOM have the quidnuncs had a more toothsome bonne bouche than that which has been going les ronds about a prominent New York matron who has been much in the “lime- light” lately owing to her widely exploited attempt to smuggle eighty thousand dollars’ worth of opium into the country, con- cealed in one of her dainty galoches. The matron, who lives not a hundred miles from Fleischman’s Baths, and who is the daughter of a family prominent in the police court records of both Gotham and the City of Churches for many generations, motored in one day last week from her luxurious North Brother Island villa, which has been the scene of purties that according to the envious vox populi who inhabit the surrounding country- side, not infrequently last till the “wee, small” hours. Arrived in Father Knickerbocker’s domain, the matron proceeded to make a round of the most exclusive couturiers, masseuses, par- fumeurs, coiffeurs, and plombiers, after which she betook her- self to an hotel not a million miles from the Grand Central Terminal, congratulating herself on being all “unseen and un- known.” But she reckoned without a certain College Point matron, famous all over Flatbush for her sharp eyes and sharper tongue, who happened to be stopping at the same hostelry, Matron Number Two saw Matron Number One register—under her own name—and ascend to a palatial suite. But that is not “the half,” by any means. Not twenty minutes after, Matron Number One’s husband dashed in, registered, and was shown to the very suite where his wife had preceded him not twenty minutes before. A little dinner for two, a theatre, and a souper dansant were but incidents in the evening, ani it was not till the middle of the next morning that the two checked out. Hardly had they cranked their car before Matron Number Two was at the telephone, and the wires grew hot as she told her amies of the scandale. Since then, the teacups have buvzed as the quidnuncs dwell on the details, and such comments as “Well, of all things,” and “What do you know about that?” are frequently heard. What may develop later must be left on the knees of the gods, which “grind slowly, but grind exceeding small.” We verrons, Bibbes—I hear old Blewlawz is bitterly opposed to liquor. Nibbes—Yes, he even hates to see anyone make a wry face Ir is with the greatest disappointment that Town Topics an- nounces that the paragraph published last week stating that Mrs. Cornelius Van Rensselaer Reefer, the one-time Evelyn Guppy, murdered her husband and her débutante daughter with an is without, foundation. Prompt reassurances from the fan have convinced us that the report was one of those canards which, like little Eva, “jes’ growed.” We extend cordial apologies to the sprightly Mrs. Reefer, and urge our readers to profit by our disillusionment and believe only half of what they hear. Miss Péche—But what makes you think that young Fastleigh had an edge on when you saw him in the street yesterday? Miss Passée—Because he cut me when I bowed to him. The Saunterer. comicbooks.com