Life — February 4, 1926 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

“THE OFFICER SAYS YOU WERE DRIVING AT FIFTY-FIVE MILES AN HOUR. WHAT'S YOUR DEFE “L PIGGERED IT WAS NECESSARY, V" HONOR. nse?" Y’ SkE, I'D JUST STOLE THE CAR.” Breakfast betimes, reading January 12th people can go bankrupt owing great sums of money, when if I be ligated to my di the journals therewith, and marveling how many be ob. per or my sempstress beyond the average span of time, I do toss about in the night watches, and do fear by day that every pull at the bell announces the bailiff. Strange is it, too, that indivic Is can commit crimes and vanish from the scenes of them and the apprehension of the police, for I do know well that should I be guilty of the slightest felony it would not take thirty nutes for the arm of the law to land me in the Tombs. To luncheon inn with Lily Dunham, a dreary ness, too, for the poor wretch is more remote than ever now that her nuptial day approaches, and I did have to listen to the silliest lot of talk heard in my life in regard to. the alchemy of love, being regaled with t ever 1 such items as that she now looks with kindness even upon taxicab chauffeurs, and that her fiancé has come to relish Brussels sprouts, for which he formerly had a distaste, merely hecause they were the f served at meal he did eat at her board. Under all of which I did bear up with fair composure and as straight a face as possible until, in re- lating the change which has come upon her world, she did state seriously that her watch now keeps perfect time, but even then I did not reproach her, re- membering that whilst Sam was court- ing me I lost seven hundred dollars at bridge through being unable to keep my mind on aught else, nor was it a long period of time, neither. Shopping through the town for this and that, and nto tea with Beth Wiswell, another zal of one idea, forasmuch as ch absorbs individ: she has a new infant wh her utterly. She is in such constant fear for its safety that she is thinking of betaking herself to Dr. Brill for a psychoanalysis, I do bend above his cradle, quoth Beth, and if I do not per- ceive him to be breathing I fear me that he is dead; if 1 do perceive him to he breathing. I tremble lest he be tricken v Houdini, the great magician, encounter- n croup... This night to see ing there by accident the enamoured Lily and her swain. I have come here té night, quoth the young man, to find how to wriggle f ut By the first post come a letter from Helen Foote, from The a man addicted to January 13th with a clippir ondon Mail wher nd w i idge whist red by his wife f death at the c ble asked her in event to bury him with simple urs. Then out to look for a new piano, finding myself playing “Wher All the Little Ships ¢ iling Home” as a trial tune, and recalling how me S. Margaret Lawrence did always play it for Three” when she wished to affect nonchalance before her spouse. To a great luncheon at Milly Mow- bray's during which it came out that Milly's Southern cook was an expert at the Charleston, so we did have the woman in, much to her perturbation at first, but when the strains, if such they can be called, of “Yes, Sir, She's My Baby” did emanate { she was unable to resist their stimulus, and began to throw her feet about with an aband: om the gramo- ned precision which T have yet to see on the pre nd why import talent from revues and cabarets when fessional stage, a can get it from the kitchen? Sat next to Mary Gardner, who told me how her husband had hought her for Christmas ¢ costing eighty-nine dollars which she had seen marked down to twenty-nine immediately after the holi days, so she had straightway credited it and repurchased it at the reduced figure. And Fifi Fitler, on my other side, did tell me how lugubrious poor Jo Whitman has become, finding no joy in anything soever, and pondering on getting herself to a nunnery, ete. and Fi and I both mystified as to how a woman with real pearls and naturally curly hair could get herself into such state, Raird Leonard. a ne} Nuptial Note HE followers of Mrs. Pep’s Diary Will be interested to know that a real Sam Pep has appeared in the per son of Mr, Harry Zoghaum, to whom Miss Baird Leonard was married, at the Little Church Around the Corner, on January Mth. Mr. Zoghaum is a son of Rufus Zogbaum, the celebrated marine painter, and is himself an archi- tect of considerable note Lire ventures to offer its sincerest congratulations to the happy pair, and to express the hope that the new Mr Pep will produce a weekly supply of hand-carved witticisms for use in his wife's delightful diary. | comicbooks.com