Life — June 8, 1922 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

~4IL, beauteous lady, world renowned, And hail to this, your latest caplure With Goldenrod and Roses crowned Who pads at heebwith purrs of rapture. Can this sweet cat with fluffy pate In blissful thraldom to your charms Be the same beast that ramps irate Upon Great Britain’s arms! H AS ‘| "S disgustin’,” said the old crook to his pal, “the way them ama- toors is ruinin’ our bizness.” “Yair,” remarked his pal, from po- lice-force of habit non-committal. “I can’t pick up a noospaper without findin’ four or five stories about a jobbie with eleven cents gettin’ cracked over the sconce er drilled clean by two er three bums what ought to be ex- amined, It ain't right.” ” “Who wants to stick up a guy fer eleven cents? Time was when a feller in the perfession, like us, could frame up a nice, quiet little burglary—from the inside, maybe. If he did try to take To Lady Astor ‘Tis proud indecd we'll be some day, IVho witnessed the incipient stages Of your triumphal march, to say, “We saw her started down the age: And by the way, dear, since you're quite Well headed for the Hall of Fame, Don’t hold your Lion’s leash too tight Lest he forget he’s tame. ’Tis true he lets you cut his claws And trim his beard or curl or shave it— And knit wool mittens for his paws. And bob his mane, or marce But Lions have their limits, tak LIFE’S friendly tip upon the quiet And don’t attempt, for heaven's sake, To “pussyfoot” his diet! 0. H. ONE CROOK TO ANOTHER extry change off'n a stay-out, he done it clean, leavin’ the victim intact an’ un- ruffled with somethin’ to talk about an’ the ambition to work hard to recover his losses. We wasn’t out fer unneces- sary murder and violence.” “You said it.” “There was romance to the perfes- sion, then. What we done, we done firm, but respectful. We didn’t defy the lawr. We sidestepped it. We was crooks—but- we was gentlemen. We was quiet. We didn’t pull a job like it was a Irish argyment. An’ now— with the shameless list o’ vulgar, bunglin’ amatoor shootin’s growin’ greater every day, who wants to be known as a crook? It’s hurtin’ us old- school perfessionals sumpin’ horrible. It's a howlin’ outrage!” “Ain't it!” “From now on, I'm off it. I'm dis- gusted with tryin’ to compete with a lot o’ bums. I’m goin’ straight.” “Wot!” exclaimed his taciturn pal. “I'm goin’ straight. I know a good bizness, with a quick turnover, what if run right and clean will bring its own rewards. And it ain't so dif- ferent that me trainin’ as a crook will be lost. Them bunglin’ amatoors can have the crook field. I'm goin’ straight.” “Yair,” scoffed his pal, incredulously, “wot’s the bizness?” “Bootleggin’ !” H.W. #H. comicbooks.com