Life — August 3, 1922 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

American pluck almost reaching the nadir of resistance. One small spark of fighting spirit sustained by the universal example of the now fa- mous British pluck. The lady on my right explains that the only thing which has marred an otherwise glorious day is the fact that she did not bring her mackin- tosh. As she spoke, the water trickled off the end of her nose. he gentleman on my left having difticulty keeping a soggy cigarette At 5:20, Greenwich time, I 1 him a question. At 5:31 he d, “No.” The thing didn’t prom- ise to lead anywhere, so I retired again beneath my umbrella. Six o'clock—It doesn’t sound reasonable, does it? The big tarpaulin is hoisted by a winch into the form of a gigantic tent so as to allow the lake to empty itself into the drains which border the court. Clearly this is no new thing. \ mirror held to the lips of \merican pluck would have shown no signs of life. I was out-gamed. lt was nothing to me that one hun- dred and forty-six years ago this day American pluck began to assert itself. I was wet and miser- le, and if the British nation wanted to sneer at me for going home, that was their privilege. The lady on my right, as I arose to pass out, was remarking that this was the only day in weeks on which she had gone out without her mackintosh, when she suddenly looked up and cried, “Ough, it’s stopping!” and it was. So I sat down again. Men rushed out and removed the covering from the turf and presently P. O'Hara Wood and J. O. Anderson came out and played their match and after that Mary Ryan and Susie Lenglen. At ten minutes past eight Susie drove the winning shot past Mary ind the lady on my right remarked, It was a perfectly straight forward hall.” If I were going in for tennis in "ngland I should first of all learn the Australian crawl stroke. R. K. going. The Master Mind First Crook: I’ve bin wonderin’, Bill—how does a man get his own money out of a bank? Seconp Crook: Easy. He jes’ forges his own name to de check. The Champeen Strong Man Quick-Service Fiction The Very Busy Business Man Rattles Off a Detective Story to Show How Easily the Unexpected Ending Can Be Achieved ILD man Judson was found dead in his bed one morning, his throat cut from ear to ear. A hatchet, a meat-axe, a gimlet, a pistol and a cornet lay scattered about the room. Police and detectives were at once summoned. Investigation proved that the only son of Judson had had words with his father over money matters on the previous night. But the son established an alibi. He proved with fair conclusiveness that he had sat in a poker game throughout the whole night. The old man, it developed, had scolded the maid for spilling coffee on his waistcoat some days previ- ously, and she had retorted with vague threats. She claimed, how- ever, that at the hour of the murder she was out with a man whom she described as her “sweetie.” The butler, it came out, had also had a slight difference with the mur- dered man over the question of in- creased wages. But the finger- prints found in the bedroom were not the butler’s. That much was sure. The bootlegger with whom Judson did business had been seen leaving the house an hour before the body was found. But the finger-prints were not his, either. The nature of his wounds made it quite evident that Judson had not committed suicide. Who, then, killed Judson? I, the writer of this story, did it myself. B. P. Philosophy OW amusing is this chatter, “The unreality of matter.” By ladies who are fat, And are daily growing fatter! Ah, well, we'll let them chatter; For of course not much can matter When one’s already fat, And is daily growing fatter. NLM. comicbooks.com