Life — April 9, 1925 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

- LIFE - “FOR HEAVE SAKE, ETHEL, WHAT'S HAPPENED TO YOU?” “I WAS TAKING TREATMENT FROM A FACIAL ARTIST AND HE DID A GUTZON BORGLUM ON ME.” The Statistician on Spring DOZEN (12) birds that chirp about, A score (20) of joy-chants knowing ; A hundred (100) flowers all blossomed out, A thousand (1,000) breezes blowing. A million (1,000,000) stars of light above, A billion (1,000,000,000) cloudlets near ; A trillion (1,000,000,000,000) bits of whispered love, And just one (1) Spring is here! J. Scegar Heavilin, Older and Worse HAT is the Older Generation coming to? Grandma bobs her hair. Grandpa carries a flask and hangs around stage doors. Mother has taken up interior decoration. Father wears youthful clothes and haunts the cabarets. Uncle George is a bootlegger. Aunt Mary speaks favorably of free love. And they all unite in denouncing that wild Younger Generation and its antics. Meaning me. Stuart Little. Za Rese CORDED Disgusted Fan: SAY, MR. PROMOTER, WHAT DO YOU GIVE THESE GUYS? A LOVING CUP? The Center of the Universe 'HE sun, wheeling along, a speck of incandescent dust beside countless larger, hotter suns, beats furiously down on a brazen tropic sea. A ship becalmed wallows with hang- ing sails while sailors, with parched lips and swollen tongues, watch waiting sharks rolling through a tangle of seaweed. The air is thick with tons of water mounting toward the fiery orb to drift, mile-high, changed to sodden clouds. A gale whirled outward from the hub of storms drives the billowing clouds far inland, An aviator with bitterness in his heart drives his plane straight at the heart of an amber sunset and into the coppery heart of the coming storm. Like a potted hawk he tumbles headlong through a mile of space and is lost to view. The clouds speed on and lash a forest with whips of lead. A river swells and writhes in its tortuous channel. A raft of logs, uncon- trollable, smashes against a current- splitting rock and a lumberjack dies gasping between two giant firs. A lonely powerhouse, and smooth water, once a part of a lolling tropic swell, dives through a penstock. Mighty generators hum and_ tall transformers stand stolidly in line like black-cloaked inquisitors. A lone watcher looks listlessly at marble switchboards and longs for the dives of a distant city. Tall steel transmission towers stride across the countryside. A “ground” develops and a sheep burns against the steel. A great city, and the singing wires dip into a tunnel far below the streets. Rats scramble and squeak in the darkness. The potent current rises in the conduits of a beautiful office build- ing. A little whining motor bracketed against a wall sends a slender cord hurrying back and forth along a flexible arm of steel. At the end a tiny, spinning, grinding drill in my tooth—in ME. He's hammering at that nerve again. Ye gods, sce how I suffer! HE HAS BOUGHT A NEW BRAND OF HAIR TONIC AND FINDS THE DIREC- TIONS SAY “ THE HAIR WELL DOWN OVER THE FE F. J. Champion. The Lady of the Evening ISTRICT ATTORNEY BANTON (to Current Broad- way Attraction): Good evening, madam, and may I present you to the Play Jury? Broapway ATTRACTION (coyly) : Thank you, Mr. Banton, I'd be deleted. it is growing more and more difficult to tell which is the house and which is the garage. comicbooks.com