Life — December 14, 1922 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

LIFE - Horatias at the Bridge * HAT he can see in her is beyond me. She’s the kind of woman, my dear, who quotes Browning on the slightest provo- cation. In fact, she'll quote him ithout any provocation. And Bob says that it won’t take Nelson Mit- chell long to get fed up on that. Did I take that in my own hand?” “So I told him right then and there that he had me wrong. I’m sure I don’t know what type he’s sed to, but when it comes to com- x with any Continental ideal y have set up—he’s been over there ever since the war, you know, and can barely make change in our money—I’m 100% American every time. Don’t look! I dropped a card face up.” “Tr was the second fitting, and you know how discouraging that always is. I stuck out in all the wrong places, and that deadly glare showed up every physical defection that I possess. My hair even looked dyed. Thad to shut my eyes in order to get through it without bursting into tears. But it turned out all right. About the best-looking dress I ever had, in fact. Give us all the honors.” “She’s owed me seven dollars ever since last April, and I’m sure she’s forgotten it, because I’ve lost to her several times since, and she’s. cheer- fully accepted my money without a word. I don’t like to remind her of it, and yet I'll always have a black mark against her in my mind until she pays up. What's the score?” ” “Of course my French is nothing wonderful, but. it’s just as good as Lucia’s, so you can imagine how ir- ritating it is to me for her to say everything over after me, just as if I’d been mispronouncing whole- sale. I don’t think she has any idea how much she does it, but I’m not going to let her remain too long in the dark. If this finesse doesn’t work, I am going to cut my throat.” “TIL be glad when the modern novelists get through with the hearts and minds of young people. I sup- pose the rising generation is always important and aggressive and all that, but I’m hanged if I think it’s interesting. After all these revela- tions about flappers, lead me to a nice, quiet novel laid in an old peo- ples’ home. That’s what you get, partner, for taking me out in a mi- nor suit.” “When the customs officer asked her if she had declared everything, she told him she certainly had. That it wasn’t worth her while to risk the clutches of the law for the sake of a few dollars. And all the time she was waving that lorgnette she bought in Florence right in his face. Here comes the food. How many calories are there, do you think, in a caviar sandwich?” B. L. Ul “ Ly Yh da “- By deg | WOTNOETIA | Loren inf] Santa Claus: Confound it! I thought this radio set was going to be a help—but I haven’t had a minute’s péace since I put it in. “I won't drink anything ina place called the Pretty Pansy.” Redeem the Tea Rooms WICE I have passed the “Lone Wolf” tea room with friends and they have said they did not think the “Lone Wolf” was a very good name for a tea room. I suppose they think it should be called the “Tweenie Weenie” or the “Dotted Swiss.” I am rather fond of tea. It is at least no worse than water, and it has temperature one way or the other, according to the season. But there is hardly anything more infuriating than the names they are now giving tea rooms in and about New York— the “Ferny Nook,” the “Anemia,” the “Bluebell,” the “Tootsie Wootsie,” the “Tiny Tim.” Hell! What he-man or she-woman who has troubles to drown wants to drown ’em in a place called the “Tweenie Weenie”? Or who wants to celebrate anything at the “Dotted Swiss”? Let’s name our tea rooms all over. The “Lone Wolf” isn’t bad. Let's see one called the “Hairy Ape.” And let’s have a “Rhinoceros” tea room, and a “Scarlet Fever,” and, to coun- teract the nook tendency, let’s have one called the “Western Hemi- sphere,” and what about a “Panther” tea room, and a “Noisy Gulp” and a “Jack Dempsey”? A fellow could walk right up to tea rooms with names like that with- out hiding behind his parasol. D. H. CurIsTMAS is a time when one finds / how some of one’s close frien: Some women have good husbands ; others married the men they wanted. comicbooks.com