Life — June 2, 1927 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

W.L. DOUGLAS $5 to $8 Shoes for Men Amarth, WW j styled, high | | grade kid . - 4 Oxird ; or tan or black P y A isl AMERICA'S BEST KNOWN SHOES W. L. Douglas stores in all.principal Cities and dealers everywhere are now displaying the xew Douglas line If You Could Ask a man who wears W. L. Douglas kid shoes what he thinks about them, there'd be no need for this adv: ement. Perhaps your heavy shoes are already tiring your feet! Change to a pair of cool, glove-like Douglas kid shoes and be comfortable. We make and sell more men’s fine kid shoes than any other manufacturer, Only a manufacturer of long experience in build kid shoes, with the skilled workmen who for almo: eration have worked on fine kid leathers, can make a high quality kid shoe to sell for so reasonable a price. Men's Shoes $5 to $8 Women's Shoes $5 to $6 Boys’ Shoes $4 and $5 W. L. DOUGLAS SHOE COMPANY, Brockton, Massachusetts Apparently was a flock of over-due notes. Music composers have been looking for lost chords for ages but if you're in search of harmonious compositions in the beverage line, try a bottle of PICKWICK on your appetite. There’s a great concert of approval being broadcast by PICKWICKIANS, why not tune- in on it. ICKWICK ALE and STOUT The Tang of Good Old -Ale At the better Clubs, Hotels and Restacraats HarFENRreEFFER & Co., Boston Commencement Memories THE gift copy of “Lucile” in ooze leather, he white lawn necktie. The gulp of the speaker's ice water. The sea of palm-leaf fans in Old Main. The last beer together. The promise to write. The hot red plush of the day-coach, The European trip sales talk to Dad. The position in the planing mill. That’s News! HE Trial of the Twenty-first Century was in prog- ress. For weeks, nay, months in advance an insati- able public had pored in fascination over columns upon columns of newsprint which promised supersensational revelations when pretty little Mrs. Grace (“Water- melons”) Casem should take the stand and reveal every detail of her marital tence with her ancient and in- firm spouse, David G. (‘‘Moneybags”’) Casem. All night long, crowds, determined to force their way into the courthouse, had milled before the doors despite the efforts of the State Police to preserve some semblance of order, and not until the throngs were packed like sardines inside the temple of justice could the authorities establish control. At the press table sat eminent psychologists, the high- est-paid editorial and news writers of the country, lead- ing exponents of foreign journalism and men and women specialists who had accumulated fortunes in draining the hearts of their subjects of every emotion known to humankind and setting the results before the world in cold type. Transatlantic cables had been cleared to make way for the great news; even the radio stations had ceased broadcasting, while the best announcers in the land stood in readiness before their microphones. Amid a profound hush, the beautiful, childlike bride ascended the witness stand, while her elderly husband, hands clasped about his knee, gazed inscrutably at her from beneath tufted eyebrows. “And now, Mrs. Casem,” ordered kindly old Judge Scowcroft, “tell us in full, if you please, of your mar- ried life.” For a moment the girl appeared confused and her eyelids drooped. Then she gathered courage, and ina clear, brave voice replied: “It was and still is perfect. Ever since our wedding day we have loved each other to distraction. We are the happiest couple aliv And, as husband and wife exchanged a glance of adoration, flashlights exploded, typewriters and_tele- graph instruments rattled deafeningly, the crowd broke into a thunderous cheer, and the Story of the Century was given to the world! Tip Bliss. No Wonder! A POLICEMAN was walking his beat in a residential district, when a badly battered house-to-house sales- man rushed up to him. “Say, officer,” he panted, pointing to red-headed ice man, who had just climbed on his wagon, “I want thst man arrested. Just look what he did to me!” | Stalking majestically into the street, the policema2 waved the ice-wagon to a halt, and demanded, “Did yot hit this man?” “Oi did,” was the shameless reply. “What for?” “Alienation av affections,” replied the iceman. “He sold Briget Nolan’s missus wan av thim electric ict boxes.” McC. H, comicbooks.com