Life — May 18, 1922 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

Sanctum Talk bs ELLO, Lire!” “Why, my dear Conan Doyle, I am delighted to see you. How is Sherlock Holmes?” “You mean— ?” “Why, I haven’t seen anything of him lately. Can’t you—er—bring him back? I mean communicate with--” “Dear me, Lire, that thought.” “Yes; it would convince me about as quickly as anything.” “pg” “Yes; if, say, Sherlock and Hamlet and Don Quixote and Falstaff—still, I rather fancy Falstaff wouldn’t want to come back--at least to America. But if we could bring these fellows back— and Mr. Pickwick and Becky Sharp and—” “Then you don’t really believe that people come back, Lire?” “Well, Sir Arthur, sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t. I don’t think Will Hays will ever be Postmaster- General again, and I have strong doubts about Bill Bryan’s ever being President. On the other hand, Napo- leon turns up almost every week— either on the curb or in the regular ex- change. You never can tell.” “Ah, Now you're joking, Lire. !s it right for—” “T assure you I am not. For instance, I believe—” “Go on, Lire; I know you're going to say something disagreeable.” “On the contrary, Sir Arthur, I really believe—” “You do?” “Well, quite possibly in even more things than you do.” is a nice “Dear me, that’s—” “Yes, [ know. In so many daily and hourly miracles that—” “That spirits are—” “Shall I say incidental?” “Well then, perhaps we're not so far apart after all.” “Certainly not.” “And you're not so disagreeable as— “Why should I be? Indeed, I'm go- ing to say something delightful. I’m going to say—” “That—? “That just as long as we both believe in fairies, no matter where they come back from, everything is going to be all right. So there!” “But—” “Isn’t that fairy enough, Sir Arthur?” “G-good morning, Lire.” Consistency DO not ask for all your smiles, Fair lady of my heart, For they too often are but wiles Of amatory art. Nor do I all your kisses crave, Though I would claim a few; And pray you, to your humble slave Be reasonably true. I do not wish that every tear Be shed alone for me: Naught else can cause a lover, dear, Such utter misery. In things like these I’ll not exact Strict promises of you, Because, my love, er—well, in fact, I flirt a little, too. R. fF. H. Cosmic Care H‘vz you a little Worry in your home? I probably have, but I’m too cop. cerned about the status of Lloyd George to bother about mere household mat. ters. What if the Coalition Cabinet should cease coalishing—wouldn't it be terrible? I don’t know just what. The Unionists might slip out of the Union and the Liberals might turn Illiberal, There is no telling. And Lenine. Ailing, or failing, or something. So bad they can’t recog- nize him. The Zemstvo will get him if he doesn’t watch out, and they'll take him to Chekov and lock him up in the Rimsky-Korsakow where he belongs, And there’s the trouble in India, Propagandhi and everything. The Malabar sinister. And the Four Power Treaty. (Even a Ford has more power than that.) Sounds like a nice plan for making the Pacific pacific; but will it prove a saturated solution? I'm all at sea. Yesterday when I was riding in the elevator of a downtown office building, I overheard two important-looking men—bankers or bootleggers at the very least—discussing the Czecho- Slovak Bond Issue. They said it was only a third subscribed and that quotas were simply unquotable. Even more alarming news is to be gleaned in hotel lobbies. In the big business paddock of the Giltmore | heard a financier remark that unless the Salt Gherkin Corporation could float another ten million pretty quick, the Brine interests would step in and squeeze ’em, The man with him said that was grave, with Call Money at 6. Only six—when you take the trouble to call for it! The plight of those unfortunate Gherkins is terribly on my mind. Ten million dollars on such short notice. Well, it will just have to be done. What’s that? What do you want? Gas bill? You’ve come to remind me it hasn’t been paid for three months? My dear man, how can you expect me to bother about a thing like a $16.83 gas Dill, when world affairs are at stake—when I have millions on my mind? I must beg to be excused. To- day Call Money is at zero. , L. M. First New Yorker: Been robbed yet? Seconp New YorKER: haven’t been home to-day. Can’t say; comicbooks.com