Life — October 8, 1925 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

Houses BUILT a house above the sea, With iris climbing up the path, A granite hollow for my bath, Refilled by breakers faithfully ; And, silhouetted on the sky, Great vessels nodded, passing by My little home above the sea. I built a house within the wold; A wild rose tendril held my latch And leaves supplied a dappled thatch, In April green, in Autumn gold, Soft beds of hackmatack I made, Benignant pines bent down to shade My little home within the wold. I built a house upon a hill, From lowland lives aloof and far; A tree my candlestick, a star My candle, and my glass a still, Deep tarn. The silence was my friend And no North-sired wind could bend My little home upon the hill. I built these houses—in my dreams, In city pens my life is pent, For rondcau will not raise the beams Nor sonnet sequence pay the rent Of homes that poets build in dreams! John Hanlon. certain theatrical circles, the sty’s the limit. MA, QUICK! WILLIE’S HEAVIN’ ROCKS AT TH’ S' Spoken from the Heart ES, sir, there are more boob traps right along this little old strect of the various hard names than you'd think. Look at that auction going on. No, don’t bother to go in. The auctioneer is pleading hard for some one to have cnough sense to bid seventy-five dollars on an cight-hundred-dollar diamond ring. He will even throw in a lady's wrist watch and a gent’s open-face, “ARE THE AQUATIC SPORTS ALL OVER?” seventeen-jewel, standard American movement solid gold timepiece to make it square. I won't answer for the chronometers, but the ring sells for thirty-two dollars to the trade, whole- sale, Look at these fancy nut stores and soda shops. Order anything and hand over a five-dollar bill, Don’t wait for your change—there isn’t any. this delicatessen. Nice oran; quarter apiece, and the best ginger ale for fifty cents. But you don’t have to return the bottle. It wouldn't get you anything. And over here is a novelty shop. The chief novelty is how they kee getting away with it. Shoddy leather goods at imported prices, jokes, “fool your friends,” views of the city, sou- venirs, bric-a-brac, all cheaply made to be sold high to the suckers. Not many return-customers in this shop. But it doesn’t need them. Go in and look around, They don't care if you buy anything. They'll insult you just as much whether you do or not. And look—but excuse me a moment. I think I'll step into this fountain-pen shop and get one of those everlasting dollar-and-a-quarter pens that nifty blonde is demonstrating in the window. H.W. H. Stumped ‘I READ that story of yours in Ter- rible Tales. Where did you get the idea? “NOT YET—IM JUDGING THE UNDER-WATER ENDURANCE CONTEST AND, BELIEVE ME, \'D NEVER HAVE TAKEN THIS JOB IF 1'D KNOWN THE HIPPO BOYS WERE ENTERED,” “What idea?” comicbooks.com