Life — January 18, 1923 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

Abed till the late after- h noon, exhausted from it so much recent revelry by night. I am. surfeited with it, too, and should like nothing better than to walk softly for the rest of my life, knitting washrags for our relatives in the daytime and seeking an early couch after a few chapters from the works of Dr. Henry Van Dyke. But I greatly fear me that January the passing of such a mood awaits only the renewal of my strength. . . Joseph Hergesheimer, the tayle- writer, to dinner, and his discourse, astonishingly full of humor and wis- dom, cheered me greatly. And when we fell to discussing how a man’s attitude towards eleven-dollar sox is an unfailing index to the quality of his spirit, the table grew very merry indeed, and I did ask Mr. Hergesheimer if his own hosiery had cost eleven dollars, and it had, and when I demanded an immediate glimpse of it, my servant Virgie regardec me gravely, as if she were pained by such levity on my part, albeit God knows she should be wonted to it by this time. . . .To bed in good season, but when I had lain there an hour without sleeping, I bethought me of the roses and how they might die before morning if I did not cut their stems and put them in the bathtub, and so up about the task, greatly annoyed. Lay late, reflecting on ere this and that, and much 2b amused to recall some of last night’s chatter. But Lord! How many of us overshoot Poloni- us’s mark in making our habits as costly as our purses can buy. I, for one, suffer from illusions of grandeur as to the capacity of my exchequer. I should often be in dire straits indeed were it not for my husband, who is generous and for- giving, poor wretch, even if he will not accompany me to symphony con- certs. . . .Kate Mitchell to tea with me, all agog over a piece of spicy gossip which she had pledged herself not to divulge, and I doubt if there is any greater cruelty in the human comedy than a woman’s failure to break her vow in such a situation. I had liefer be considered a knave for not keeping my word than a fool for starting something I could not conclude. It may be, however, only that Kate’s ancestry dates back to the Inquisition. For she was careful to tell me that I was well acquainted with the persons involved in the scandal. I fear me that I should consult a psychologist about the near-hysteria which seizes me at the recollection of having knocked over and wrecked our Christmas tree ten minutes after its elaborate and costly completion, for the incident flashed across my mind this day at a serious lecture and I did begin to shake with laugh- ter in no wise warranted by the speaker’s remarks, attracting thereby the interested attention of all near me, so that I was forced to quit the hall before the fate of the English novel had been decided. . . Sam and I at home all the evening, he very restless, and declaring that Cato was right about there being nothing new under the sun, with exception of the rye whiskey we have been getting lately. B.L. January 13th Altered Cases (A Drama of the Prize Ring) Act I Scene: Corner of the ring at Madison Square Garden. Time: 8:53 P. M. Characters: Battling Futiley, a preliminary boxer; Joe Roon, his manager. Roon: Never min’ that eye, kid; that ain’t gonna bother us none. That'll be all right with us. We'll go right out an’ get that big tramp this roun’, we will. He can’t hurt us none, anyhow. That nose’ll stop bleeding in a minute an’ we'll be o. k. We ain't gonna let that guy put nothin’ over on us. We'll outgame him, we will. There’s th’ whistle. Here’s where we get him. We'll step right out after him this time, we will. We'll knock him dead; knock him cold, kid, that’s what we'll do. Battiine Futirey: Uh-huh! Act 11 Scene: Same as Act 1. Time: 8:56 Pp. M. Characters: Same as Act 1. Batttine Futirey (reviving af- ter several sniffs of smelling salts) : Where are we? (Looks around.) Oh, yeh. (Sits up.) Say, Joe, that guy certainly hit us, didn’t he? He sure made us look like a bum in there. Roon: You, you mean. straight, kid—you! (Curtain) J. K. M. Get that Ma Belle Ennuyée OLD and pallid mistress, Yawning your ennui, Lying there so listless, Sipping of your tea: If you see a white star Shining in the west, Shining with a light far Brighter than the rest— Think a god shines over You who scorned at me; Make him your star-lover, Condescendingly. Cold and pallid mistress, Yawning your ennui, A star’s kiss is listless— Like a sip of tea. P.G. comicbooks.com