Life — December 7, 1922 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

At the Moment of Writing Some Reflections on Christmas LECTRIC fans are among the chief nuisances of civilization. Months of painstaking perseverance applied to one of the Westinghouse cyclones will not serve to adjust it properly. Either its furious blast scatters the papers on your desk like so many Kansas farmhouses, or it plays interminably on your neck, reminding you that a visit to the barber cannot be longer postponed. The ideal adjustment for an elec- tric fan never has been found, but research with such an object in view is one of the chief duties of anyone writing of Christmas for the maga- zine trade. One cannot hope to weather the dog days and contri- bute something appropriate for the season unless a reasonable degree of comfort is assured. And then, there are always those summer engagements. Late August is such an exacting period. The per- sistent urge of the cooling waters forever contends with such social duties as have been postponed for two months and must finally be com- pressed into one hurried week; not to mention what it does to pro- fessional tasks. Christmas, one reflects, and pro- ceeds to concentrate on the outward forms of the sacred day. Holly— that’s that green stuff with the red berries. And mistletoe; always mis- tletoe. And stockings hung above the fireplace. “You haven’t forgotten that we are going for a sail with the Preens this afternoon, have you, dear?” comes the voice of your task mis- tress. “No! spond, Bright faces, rosy in the wintry winds; furs, and merry laughter ringing through the clear, frosty air; carols—what the deuce did I do with that carol I clipped last year ?— Dickens, old England. . . . You browse along in thought, al- most catching the spirit of the sea- son, Certainly not!” you re- “There is a pair of white flannels in your closet just back from the cleaners, You'll wear them, won't you?” comes a further inquiry. “Yes! Of course!” you mutter. Tired shopgirls, managing to smile A Dog’s Life “A Merry Christmas to ye, doggie. May ye always have a bone and enough fleas to keep ye busy!” bravely; the rush of happy throngs from shop to shop; lighted windows, gleaming like so many squares of rosy jewels; toys and dolls. . . . “Your white sport shoes have been cleaned.” “Thanks so much.” Old couples and young couples; couples childless and couples crowd- ed round by their offspring; splen- did couples and shabby couples; kindly folk everywhere, filled with the gladsomeness of the. . . confound that fan! It never stays put! . . . gladsomeness of the holiest of days. “You'd better start dressing soon. We'll have to start in half an hour.” “In a minute.” Churches from whose depths come shafts of light and the sonorous beauty of organs sounding joy; choir boys with freshly scrubbed faces; Adeste fideles. “Are you dressing now?” “Just beginning.” “T thought I heard your typewrit- er” “Only one more word and I'll start.” Christmas! J.K.M. comicbooks.com