Life — January 7, 1926 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

HERE are winding roads through the gentle hills Where the lithographic kine, With contented eyes, view the daffodils From an advertising sign; Where the poster painter’s graphic art Has replaced bucolic chores With the glad-man’s verb And the ad-man’s blurb In the billboard out-of-doors: “Schnitzelbank Cheeses — The Quality Pleases!” “Clothing on Credit. Your Own Terms? You Said It!” “The New Fleur-de-Lis Room in Flanagan’s Tea-Room Serves Popcorn to Crunch On, Tiptop Cern to Munch On— The Purest a Tourist Could Possibly Lunch Oni" Freak chairs, unique chairs and squeaking antique chairs, Tables with gate-legs, ornate legs and straight legs Shriek forth from placards to flivvers and Packards In dingles on shingles of once ceremonial Mansions now certified “Grade-A Colonial.” “For Him Who Looks Smarter — The Beacon Hill Garter.” For Jolly Old Cronies — McSchultze’s Bolognies.” “The Triodyne, Whyodine, Reflexing Iodine— Radio's New Sets That Get Massachusetts In 'Frisco—A Feat That Is Equalled by Few Sets!" ‘The farms and the farming, the silos and silage Are hidden by tire signs: “Guaranteed Mileage!” “Avoid All Delays and Let Hennessey Truck It.” (No vestige remains of the old hokum bucket.) “Detour at Next Corner for Maison Rebecca, The Roadhouse Distinctive, the Motorist’s Mecca.” One can't feast one’s eyes on the lovely horizon; The highways are buy-ways:—“Try Beau Brummell Ties On!” To the sun-lit trails where we keep our trysts, My roadster, let us fly, Where the posters croon to the motorists A commercial lullaby; Where the picnic parties pant for air On their soothing Sunday rides, As they creep for miles Through the steep defiles Of our billboard countrysides. Arthur L. Lippmaonn, The Callous Age TRAMP was bitten by a dog while passing a house in the suburbs. Seeing the young son of the house in the yard, he said: “Listen here, kid, yer dorg bit me leg.” “Well,” replied the youngster indifferently, “you don't expect a little dog like that to bite your ear, do you?” The Man-in-the-Street’s Viewpoint BR: Do you prefer a coach to a sedan? Horrer: Yes—a coach is lighter—you've got a better chance under it. REELEY revised—Go South, young man, and blow up with the country! A Natural HE Taxr Driver (in automobile salesrooms) : a new bus. Tue SaresMan: Brother, you've come to the right place Here—take a look at ‘er. Finished in fourteen primary colors. Colored lights a!l over like a firemen’s fair. Tue Taxt Driver: Looks sweet. But so did the wife when I first married her. How does she run? Tne Satesman: Brother, like Charley Paddock. And she’s got an eight-day movement. Finds her own way home from the Bronx; you can’t do better. Tue Taxt Driver: I done well enough with the old bus only she fell apart on me on the hunneran tent street hill. There wasn’t enough left to make a one-tube radio set. A mousey shame, that was. I got me twenty-two miles per gallon out of her, too, in traffic and out, in traffic and out. Howsis baby on gas? THe SALESMAN: iend, she likes gas like a Methodist likes gin She runs on kindness—kindness and a little erl. Tne Taxi Driver: Ya gotta hot line, I'll hand it to ya. Howsa fenders? Tue Saresman: All-steel fenders. Trim the buttons right off the uniform of a traffic cop. You can shave with ‘em. Tue Taxt Driver: I don’t shave. And I don't wear no gardenias in me buttonhole, neetha. Tue SAtesMAN: No offense, brother. But honest, these fenders are an adaptation from the old British war chariots. They used to fasten knives to the wheels; some of them had a saw-tooth edge. I wanna gemme Sel Tue T but 1 do brakes? Tue heavy pl crashing | are worth Tue T. Tue S$ Ging i go) out, | brakes has ed teeth: Tue Ta Tue Sa trick hook Knee contr a back tle prac Every tim Tue Ty this for a Tue Ss by the wo