Life — June 22, 1922 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

HIS is the time of year when Mur- gatroyd and I feel that something defi- nite must be done about this thing of getting more ex- ercise. Murgatroyd gives a pretty convincing demonstration of where he has to fasten his belt now, as op- posed to the hole that the buckle used to mect without a struggle, and I get out the blue and lavender tulle dress I lad that time I was a brides- maid, and give an illustrated talk on the changes that a sedentary life has wrought in me. Naturally, this leaves us in quite a nasty state of depression. Mur- gatroyd hits on the notion that we are not growing any younger, and I wonder audibly if, after all, we are getting the most out of life. From there, it is but a step to the annual decision to play more tennis. We remind cach other, with increasing cheerfulness, that we will thus com- bine exercise with wholesome fun, besides training mind and eye, and keeping ourselves out in the great open spaces where men are men. We take a rather mean oath not to go at it in the spasmodic way we did last vear, but to play daily—Mur- gatroyd says that is the only way we will ever get anywhere, and it gets no argument out of me. * * Oe In fact, carried away with the idea, I suggest that we give up bus- iness, friends, and eating, and do nothing hut play tennis. But Mur- gatroyd, who is my severest critic, says no, we might as well be sensi- ble about the thing—we will just play every afternoon from three till half-past seven. Then I grow coy, and insist that Murgatroyd would get more fun out of playing with someone who is better at the game than I am, and with annual nobility he says no, he wouldn't at all. The 1 ends in a friendly argu- o whether we ought to enter ional tournaments. begin to slow up a bit when Setting out the racquets. in some trunk, this much is wn, hut nobody seems to be in a Position to recall which one it is. The systematic thing, obviously, is discussi ment as More ni Thi we sta They known, * LIFE - Good Clean Sport You Have to Be Systematic to Get Anywhere to go through all the trunks, and I don’t know of anything that runs into more time than going through trunks. You keep coming on things you had forgotten all about, and there is always the element of ex- citement in the chance that you may come upon a torso someone has left there. I usually get reading those letters Murgatroyd wrote me that Summer he was abroad, and Murga- troyd browses in an album of snap- shots taken at the boys’ camp he used to attend. xe * Then the question of clothes comes up. It develops that the dog has been pretending that one of Murga- troyd’s tennis shoes is a rat, and has worried it to a horrible death. I find that the henna sweater is abso- lutely unwearable, and the green one is a total loss, and the blue one was always a mess, anyway. The really practical thing to do is to get entire- ly new outfits, and then we won't be worrying about the way we look, and taking our minds off the game. As Murgatroyd says, we might as well be sensible about the thing. Then we are practically all set. The day comes when we are to make the big start. Street-cars are run- # ning, people are going down to work, shops are open—really, unless you were on the inside, you would never know that at three o'clock Murgatroyd and I are officially to open the tennis season. And at two-fifty-five, Murgatroyd telephones to say that he is all un- hinged about it, but Eddie Ulch has come down from Hartford, and he doesn’t see how he is going to get away without sending the nation’s business right to smash. It is really just as well for me, because Mrs. Bleason has come in from Kew Gar- dens, and I don’t know when I would have a chance to see her again, what with her having to go to the hospital and all. The next day, the rainy spell starts. For three weeks, it either rains every afternoon, or else it looks threatening. And if there is one thing that I cannot stand, it is to have anything hook threatening at my tennis. It is during this period that the living-room begins to look pretty tacky, with the tennis racquets stand- ing about, and so they are put in the closet, until the next clear day. And (Continued on page 32) “This heat is terrible. Why don’t we get Johnnie to give us one of those osculating fans?” comicbooks.com