Life — March 1, 1923 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

February Up betimes, looking 24th through the publick prints, and shamed at my indifference to the dispatches of im- port, but Lord! I can make nothing of the world’s problems, nor could I alter grave situations for the better did I understand them. I doubt, however, if my stupidity in such mat- ters will work me harm, there being slight chance of Sam’s answering any call to publick life, and if he do, it will be to greater advantage for me to know what clothes to se- lect than what our policy in the Pa- cific should be. . . .To an inn with Kate Mitchell for luncheon, and she undecided, as usual, as to what dishes to choose, which always enrages me. And she did ask the waiter if this and that were good to-day until I was out of all patience with her. As if he would know or tell her should anything not be! I do give thanks to God that I can eat everything in the world save cocoanut and organs, for it does simplify existence ex- tremely except when calves’ liver is served, and even then there is al- ways the bacon. . . .Mr. Cartwright, lately come from Africa, to dine with us, and he tells me that he has brought us a marmoset for a pres- ent, but after he had gone Sam threatened me with divorce should I accept it. February Sam a-singing, “O Day 25th of All the Week the (Lord’s Day) Best!” which is far from the truth. And A. Dodds did prove it by calling us early from Green- wich to ask what a lyric poem of three letters could be, he being halted with a cross-word puzzle, and when I responded “ode,” he did heave a sigh of disgust, as though he regretted having cast thirty cents away for naught. .. .A college youth to luncheon with us, the son of one of Sam’s clients. And when he did remark apropos of nothing at all that he lived only to go to Russia, I asked the reason therefor, and he quoth, I hear that the Russian wom- en are never boring or never vul- gar. With a straight face, too. Lord! the sage who said that youth is a period through which we all must go in order to be made tolerable for the rest of mankind knew whereof he spoke. And this boy, despite the airiest talk that ever I heard in my life, did eat provender sufficient for three day-laborers. February Lay late, pondering on 26th this and that, especially the absent-mindedness in- to which I am falling, for I am not old enough yet, God knows, to, hand a taxicab chauffeur my walking-stick in lieu of his fee, as I did the other day. Nor do I listen to what people are saying to me, neither, so that often I am at my wits’ end whether to say Yes or No when they inter- rupt their discourse with a direct question. . . .In the shops all day buying apparel for our servants, a dull business, but I did enliven it by purchasing a pair of earrings for myself, very handsome, and made of the feathers of the Howo bird pasted on old gold. I suppose they are per- ishable, but when I reflect that the days of man are but as grass, it seems folly to expect too much of gauds and baubles. Bk: La Dumb Belle Sans Merci (With a Little Help from Johnny Keats) “A™ what can ail you, stupid dolt ? You give a guy the frozen creeps; Quit actin’ like a two-year colt, And can the weeps! “I see a bandage on your brow; Your nose is flatter Chink’s ; Your eyes look green; no, pink, | vow— How come the blinks?” than a “I took a dame t’a dance one night, Some pip she was, some knockout jane! Her hair was bobbed, her feet were light, So was her brain. “We danced each dance that jazz band played, And in between we hit the booze. You should of seen her balconade! Sweet baby’s shoes! “.. .[ leaves her for a little smoke, And when I'm back, the dance to ask, - She’s parkin’ with a college bloke Aroun’ my flask! “You double-crossin’ minx !’ I shout, And as I starts to grab a hold, Her cakie friend lets go a clout And knocks me cold! “So that is why I’m mopin’ here, And feelin’ like a busted king. That Dumb Belle still rings in my ear, And cuckoos sing.” M.L. Any First-Nigh Audience ORGNETTES and white waist- coats, ermine cloaks and gar- denia buttonholes, tiaras and top-hats. Critics in black fedoras, in brown derbies, in homespun caps. Song writers in checked suits. Literary women in bone-rimmed spectacles. Plume fans and silk mufflers, cloth of gold turbans and patent-leather pumps, fur neck-pieces and silver- topped canes. Semi-successful play- wrights, actors out of a job, produc- ers, movie stars in purple collars. Dowagers and débutantes, maga- zine cover artists and opera singers, cubists and dancing men, friends of the company. .relations. The author of the piece nervously chew- ing a five-cent cigar in the drug- store around the corner. comicbooks.com