Life — December 21, 1922 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

“*Tis mair the pity, Jock, we were na whelpit St. Bernards.” A Plea for Universal Coats-of-Armament HY do our public officials have no coats-of-arnis ? I don’t know and that is why I am suggesting that the practice be taken up. I. offer the following: Ambassador Harvey: A balloon, punctured, en- tangling an American eagle, rampant. A Brit- ish lion, laughing, in the background, the field surrounded by a border of A. E. F. war ideals. Motto: “Woodrow Wilson for president—1912.” General Sawyer: A Red Cross hospitalization ex- pert (very red and very cross), couchant before a star, argent, on a shoulder strap, briga- dier general. The whole surrounded by tape, red. Motto: “Il ne passe pas.” (He does not get by.) Andrew Volstead: A bar, very by red seals, official, across a map of the U. S. A drought superimposed. At the top, a figure of Public Opinion, dormant, surrounded by dry agents, confiscating. Motto: “For the free- dom of the seizure.” Secretary Hughes: A beaver, judicial, under a high hat, damming the flow of liquor on U. S. ships. A crowd of passengers, damning the beaver. Motto: “Hughes to the line, let the ships fall where they may.” A.C. M. A. sinister, closed The End of His String HE movie-magnate fell back in to his chair, and leaned hi head wearily against the soft re upholstery, discreetly decorated with gold tassels. He fingered a pistol— gold-chased and studded with dia monds, This, then, was the end—fool that he was to have been so reckless, so spendthrift. Before him was the script of his latest super-extra-pro- duction, ready for release to a wait- ing public; but—and he faced it for the thousandth time—there were no adjectives superlative enough for the press notices. Heart-throbbing, gi- gantic, stupendous, soul-stirring—all —all of these, and more, seemed bar- ren of meaning. He simply could not think of anything larger than cataclysmic, or mastodonic, and these he had recklessly used together on his last production. He was tired. If he could only say that the picture was “A No. One,” and let it go at that. But he had created a demand for superlatives, and there were no more. He picked up the pistol and shut his eyes. A crash—and then silence. SuntitLe “And who knows? Mayhap in the Great Beyond, where the Sunset meets the Morning Mists, he found his Heart’s Desire.” M.S. W. Outline of History T HE days before I knew you were my callow, sopho- moric days, And now, my dear, I think of them as being Prehistoric days. I met you, and your many charms were closely veiled in mystery, But that seems very long ago—we’ll call it Ancient History. Realization myriad— A stage that might, I think, be called the Medieval Period. Now, if it may be said by one who calls himself your lover, he’s Emerging from an era of remarkable discoveries; And, having reached the Modern State, he finds all things extraneous Except the one tremendous fact that we’re contempo- raneous ! S.K. dawned that you were One among a Grocer: Yes, sir, eggs are ninety cents a dozen. Patron: I thought only geese laid golden eggs. No matter how flat your conversation may be, a woman likes to have it flatter. comicbooks.com