Life — June 17, 1926 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

The Second from the Left: rt TERRIBLY DEPRESSED ABOUT MY WORK, I DON’T SEEM TO GET ANYWHERE, Meetings in Heaven The Third from the Right: CHEER UP, DEARIE! IP AT FIRST YoU DON'T SUCCEED, THIGH, THIGH AGAIN! Peter Minuit and the Chief of the Manhattas ing the one man in all heaven he always avoided meeting. It was the poor Indian chief whom Peter had induced to sell Manhat- tan Island for a beggarly twenty-four dollars. So Peter fied hastily down a side-strect. Unfortunately the streets converged and Peter came to the end of his thor- oughfare just as the Indian was coming to the end of his. The meeting was inevitable. “Hello,” said Peter, putting a bold face on it. “How,” said the Indian. Finding him so loquacious, Peter was encouraged to con- tinue. “You're not sore any more over our little trade, I hope?” said Peter. “How,” said the Indian. Peter blushed and shifted un- comfortably. “Have you scen the old town lately?” he asked, and immediately could have bitten his tongue off. That did sound as if he were rubbing it in! But the Indian said, “How,” so there was nothing to do ex- cept to show it to him, Peter took him to the Street- with-a-view-of-Earth and un- latched the heavy bronze win- dow. They watched in silence. They watched the battle of the subways, the millions turn- ing away from what little sun- light there was to dive into the bowels of the earth. Pre MINUIT saw approach- Xe: WAS THAT T! GIT OFF MY FOOT OR I'D CALL TH’ USHER, They watched men and women cross- ing the streets, darting like frightened animals from one pavement to another, their lives forever hanging on the whims of autoists. They watched smoke the that Maggie: wHat’D YA THINK UH TH’ “OVERTURE FROM WILLIAM TELL”? HE BIG BUM’S NAME? I TOLD ‘IM TA wreathed from the pistols of gunmen in a dozen parts of the city and they watched the transportation of money surrounded with a ceremony of de- fense that shamed the days of the old robber barons. They watched tall buildings give place to taller, garages piling on garages and theatres on theatres, while far out at the edges of the city ugly rows of thin-walled houses rose up by miles to shelter the workers. Darkness came and the city took its pleasures. From thousands of homes came the wail of radio jazz, while the radio-listeners devoured eagerly the sensational crimes and scandals of the day as they were pictured in their picture-papers. When the last waiter in the last night club had wiped the last whisky stains from his table, Peter shut the window and fastened the bronze latch. He turned and saw the Indian chief fumbling at his belt. “Big chief honest man!” said the Indian proudly. “He no take candy from baby! He take only what thing worth!” And opening Peter’s hand, he thrust into it twenty-three dol- lars and ninety-eight cents’ worth of wampum. Bertram Bloch, Idiomatic “HERES a pretty kettle of fish!” said the Florida realtor as he sighted four immi- grants approaching in a flivver. comicbooks.com