Life — September 22, 1921 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

September 22 said Miss Babson vide enough.” I hesitated— “He can’t get much lower,” with a smile; “the paper isn’t “You don’t think—it’s not—” “pernicious anemia?” “Oh, no... he'll pull through. But his gen- eral motors are all run down. It’s the life he’s Ied.” “Has it been necessary to operate?” “Oh my, yes,” said Nurse Babson. “Dr, Bear has o} ted several times and nearly killed the poor « fae is s he mentally ?” ou'd never know him; he’s so low and de- ae . But you'll see. It’s time for his medi- cine. She crossed the room and approached the patient's bedside with two large bottles, one of which was labeled “Mixed Collateral,” the other bearing a technical analysis of which I could only make out “tincture of iron, essence of oil, sugar of lead—” “Wake up, dearie,” said Miss Babson, pulling Josiah’s forelock as if it were a door-bell. ~Time for meddy.” Josiah opened one eye and instantly closed it again. “I'm asleep,” he announced. his feeble struggles Nurse Babson he noxious draught between his lips. * she said triumphantly. down.” erything’s down,” shouted Josiah in a e that startled me. Then suddenly opening his eyes he pointed at me. \ho’s that?” he cried. “A customer?” there, dearie,” Miss Babson com- You're out of your head. You'll feel better in a year or two.” “Call Money,” he shouted wildly. “Call Money.” Giving me a meaning glance, Miss Babson stepped to the door and called gently down the corridor. “Here, Money, Money, Money.” It seemed to calm him. He sank back with a wan smile and murmured, “I’m so hungry.” at's good,” she soothed. “And what would he like for his supper ? “LAMB!” he screamed. “I want lamb. Lamb-chops, lamh-steaks, lamb-fries, lamb-pie!” Throwing back the covers he stretched an emaciated limb toward the floor. oa fa > YRS JAMES MONTCOWERY: FLAGS If He Needed Help A landlord named Isador Brent, When asked what the dumbwaiter meant, Replied with a grin, “I hat dot put in To assist me in raising the rent.” With a promptitude which I could not but admire, Miss Babson hit him smartly on the head with a heavy Indian club which stood by the bedside. “No, no, deari she admonished. No, no.” Poor Josiah! There he lay, babbling insanely. “Please pass the dividends,” he kept repeating. pass the dividends.” Then he closed his eyes, breathed a long sigh and lay still. “Poor Josiah Wallstreet,” I thought as I hurried out of the gloomy building. I haven't dared look at a newspaper since my visit. He may get over it, but I feel sure that he will never look the same. The Lyric Baedeker Glasgow “Mustn’t get up. “Please Tue clamor and clang of the shores of the Clyde, Her forges that flare on the dark of the tide, The fleets that she pours to the sea are the pride Of Glasgow. But drab is the town as a shawl-hooded crone, And dreary and cold with a chill all its own. You ask them for bread and they give you a scone, In Glasgow. Her eyes never smile; but e: Saturday night Her workers get drunk, which is patently right; For anyone would to escape from the blight Of Glasgow, Arthur Guiterman, comicbooks.com