Life — February 2, 1922 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

Sanctum Talk “¢ OW are you, Lire?” “T don’t know who you are, but you look mighty good. I—’ “Don’t you know me? I’m perity.” “Good Heavens! Have a_ chair. Have two chairs. Wait a moment while I lock the door—” “Not necessary, Lire; I’m not for you alone. I’m for everybody.” “Right, right! That was just a little momentary selfish impulse. Praise be to Allah, but it seems good to see you. Where have you been keeping your- self?” “Oh, I haven't been so far off as you suppose; the fact is, I have been sitting around all the time, just waiting for everybody to notice me; perhaps I haven't been neglecting you so much as you think. Maybe you have been neg- lecting me.” “Well, Prosperity, now that you are here—” Pros- LIFE - “Now that I am here, Lire, I want to inflict upon you a little advice. You have been listening to so many people, maybe you will care to listen to me.” “Will I listen? You can talk as long and as loud as you like—you can’t bore me!” “Well, then, tell everybody to treat me better than they did before.” “In what way?” “Don’t impose upon me. Don't think that I stand for nothing but dol- lars and cents. Remember that I think just as much of this country as anybody else. Use me sparingly; use me with restraint. Don’t employ me for prof- iteering purposes. Do not forget that a large part of my virtue lies in the re- straint with which I am treated. Don't abuse me; don’t wear me out; make me permanent by thrift, honesty and sim- ple living. Will you tell them that?” “Oh, will I!” Snap Shots Setr Love is always faithful. PROHIBITION is a teetotal failure. Necessity is the mother of armament. WE still have 10-20-30 drama, but it costs $2.50 to see it. WINNERS in Life’s Title Contest— next week, dis- Methuselah Receives a Cake on His Nine Hundredth Birthday The Still Small Gurgle Henry William Hanemann “QEE that man?” asked Gwathmey. “He's a prohibition agent.” “Oh!” I groaned involuntarily. “I remembered that the first time he was pointed out to me. I shall never forget it.” “Go on,” said Gwathmey. “It was a bottle of gin,” I b “needed badly to prime a_ particu- lar dinner for a quick start. With the help of paper stuffing around the neck, I did the bottle up to look like—well, when I had it finished, it looked rea- sonably like a box of a hundred cigar- ettes. At least, I thought it did.” “Sounds most cheerfully possible,” agreed Gwathmey. “The. surface car I boarded was crowded. I worked my way to the front platform. There was the gentle- man whom you so kindly started to point out to me. He looked at me— casually, I suppose. I looked at him. I looked at him coldly, distantly, loftily. Sanctimoniously, even. I thought I doing it extremely well until the car stopped, suddenly. In the incomprehen- sible lull that followed, the package gave a small yet distinct gurgle. [ut ‘he pretended he didn’t notice it.” “Aha!” “When I got off the car, he got off. He fell in behind me. In a cheerful stray-dogged manner, he tagged my footsteps, turning over in his scurrilous mind how best to approach me. “I could sense the very line of argu- ment going on inside his worthless cranium. ‘That may be a box of cig- arettes,’ he was saying to himself, ‘and again it may not. It looks like a box of s, very much so, and yet... .°” yes,” said Gwathmey. “I thought desperately. I had to save the gin. How would I act if the pack- age were really a box of a hundred cig- arettes? What would I do? And then I got my wild idea. One hundred ci arettes don’t weigh anything. There- fore, I would pretend my package was light—as it should be. I would toss it playfully in the air!” “Gosh!” breathed Gwathmey in ad- miration: “That would decide him once and for all. I took a deep breath. High in the air went the bottle of gin. Alrea:ly half-convinced, Blue Law stopped where he stood. ‘Down came the bottle, and—” “Good boy!” shouted Gwathmey. “You caught it, and—” “No,” I muttered sadly, while a silly sort of choke tightened my larynx, “I—I—muffed it.” comicbooks.com