Life — October 12, 1922 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

HO christens the new soda fountain delicacies? * * * Whether Sccretary of State Hughes would vote for Senator Newberry at the polls. * * * Whether in his pending memoirs Lloyd George will tell who won that golf match between Briand and him- self. * * * What is Herbert Hoover's pri- vate opinion of Attorney-General Daugherty? * * If Lord Lascelles reads his morn- ing paper at breakfast; and whether Princess Mary tolerates the practice. * * * Who writes Mayor Hylan’s letters? * * * What Peggy Joyce will do now to offset Mme. Ganna Walska’s latest achievement. + x * Ox President Harding’s unabridged golf score. * * * What former Judge Landis really thinks of professional baseball. * * * How many members of the Cabinet subscribe for the Marion Star? * * * Whether the Rt. Hon. Herbert H. Asquith will refer to her as “Mar- got” in the memoirs he is writing; and whether he will have the courage of his wife’s indiscretions. ee Which “dry” Senator has the best- stocked cellar? Things LIFE Would Rather Like to Know What the Queen of Spain said to King Alfonso when he returned from Deauville. * * * Who amuses summer widows in winter? * * * If General Pershing is satisfied with the way Brigadier-General Sawyer salutes. * * * Why doesn’t someone start a movement in favor of a Don’t Pub- lish Your Diary Week for statesmen? * * * If it is true that William Jennings Bryan has backslid to the extent of raising oranges that might help make cocktails. * * * Who pays the woman who pays? * * * How did civilized man keep warm in the days before he had coal which he couldn't get? * * * Why are theatre audiences advised to walk (not run) to the nearest exit only in case of fire? * * * Is a man in Wall Street known by the trust companies he keeps? * * Where was Broadway when Con- gress put lobsters on the free list? * * * Whether Attorney-General Daugh- erty ever has read the Constitution of the United States. ee ie Whether Geraldine Farrar has asked Mme. Jeritza to assist her in her forthcoming concert tour. My Invisible Cloak USED to think that the airplane was the closest I’d ever come to a fairy tale come true. It was like the Wishing Ring: Whir-r-r-r! and there I was. In less time than it took to write “Dixie” the author of that song would have jumped into his plane and gone to the yearned for Land of Cotton, Cinnamon Seed, etc. There would never have been that frequently expressed wish— what we who shout the Battle Cry of Freuddom call the Southland Li- bido. But now, for a long time, I have been wearing the Invisible Cloak. But, unlike the lads in the fairy tales, I don’t wear it when I want to. I'l like to don it, for example, when [ am a linesman in an important lawn tennis match and I call one of Bill Tilden’s drives “out” that everybod) in the stands thinks was good, or when I fail to fill a four-flush and one of the contestants calls me; or when a barber, looking at my face with bored and contemptuous pity, says, “Shave yourself, I see.” No, I wear the Invisible Cloak when I don’t want to. I am invested with it the instant I try to catch the waiter’s eye to ask him why that party at the next table, who came in after I came and who gave their or- der twenty minutes after I gave mine, should get their Broiled Whitefish, To Order (15 min.), before I get my Lamb Hash au Gratin, which, as everybody knows, is one of the Dishes Marked with a Star Are Ready. | wear it when I go to one of those places with a Free Air sign to ask the man whether he’d mind inflating the left front to 45 pounds. I wear it when I walk up to a soda water fountain at which one clerk is wash- ing glasses and the other two clerks are standing, with their backs to me discussing whether Dempsey will kill the Smoke. I wear it—everybody, though, wears it here—whenever | go into a hardware store for any- thing whatsoever. And sometimes my manuscripts— yes, even mine—walking into an editorial office seem to be invested with it. F. P. A, Tuirsty days hath September, April, June and November. All the rest are thirsty, too—unless you make your own home brew. comicbooks.com