Life, 1928-04-12 · page 42 of 42
Life — April 12, 1928 — page 42: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**"Embarrassing Moments"** cartoon shows a social etiquette tip: if you arrive late to a party, act casual and light a cigarette to seem unbothered. The humor targets early 20th-century social anxiety about appearing composed in awkward situations. **"Teaching the Teacher"** satirizes malapropisms—the comical misuse of words. A pupil's mother writes to a teacher using absurdly wrong words ("illiterate" instead of "obliterate," "progeny of learning" instead of learning outcome, "allegory on the Ganges" instead of an actual comparison). The joke mocks both poor education and pretentious attempts at formal language. **"The End"** is a serious short story about golfers searching unsuccessfully for a lost ball in fog and darkness. It's a somber tale emphasizing futility and resignation—darkly ironic given the trivial subject matter (a golf ball) contrasted with the exhausted, desperate tone. The page is primarily **advertising** (Murad cigarettes, Mothersill's travel remedy, Cortez cigars).
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
EMBARRASSING MOMENTS When you show up for Wednesday's party on Friday night... . be nonchalant .... light a MURAD Cigarette. Journey by Sea, Train, Auto or Air in health and comfort, Moth- ersill’s promptly ends the faintness and nausea of ‘Travel Sickness. 34 73¢. & $1.30 at Drug Stores or dire® The Mothersill Remedy Co., Ltd. New York Paris L-MADE AT KEY WEST-~— Teaching the Teacher Is an age when people seem to en- deavor to speak as colloquially as pos- sible, one would have thought the de- scendants of Mrs. Malaprop were all de- ported. But we have just seen a letter received by a teacher from the mother of one of her pupils, This good lady writes: “Sorry Ada is not peculiarly well, but hopes to restart on Monday....1 never want her to be a progeny of learning... As to her refusal to do the homework, please illiterate it from your memory, as she is now more or less sorry. She's as headstrong as an allegory on the Ganges, and I regret to state my affluence over her is small.” —London Daily Chronicle. Trovsanxns of Americans who do not know what H2O0 means are thoroughly posted on “ab.bh.po.a.e.” —Louisville Times. THE OCVINNE-MALLENBICK COMPANY, INC, PRINTERS, NEW YORK Subconscious Thoughts of a Young Lady Accepting THE songs of Villon are stilled forever, And Lancelot’s plumes have gone down in dust; Bellarion’s armor is sifting rust; To seek Leander is vain endeavor, Why should I answer your plea with “Never!” Nobody living deserves more trust— The songs of Villon are stilled for- ever, And Lancelot’s plumes have gone down in dust. Blithe cavaliers and the knights who sever Their enemies’ mighty thrust Are sunk into limbo—yet wed I must— What if you aren't so brave or clever? The songs of Villon are stilled for- ever. Elizabeth Dillingham. The End GROUP of bitter, exhausted, disillusioned men sat around the embers of a dying fire. Their eyes were haggard from loss of sleep; their clothes were soaked with the raw mist that was falling silently and relentlessly outside. Now and then one stirred and muttered a low curse. “I can’t believe it’s all over,” burst out the youngest of the party; “I can’t give up!” “I know,” an- swered a second hoarsely, “but it's no use. We might as well admit it.” “I’m done,” a third shivered as he spoke; “I couldn’t search another hour if it was my own daughter that was lost!” Still the younger man stared gloomily ahead of him; his was the temperament that never says die; he would go doggedly on and on until exhaustion claimed him. “Hang it all,” he exclaimed at last, “we might have come within a foot of the place a dozen times! How could we tell? These lanterns are no good and there's this damned mist....See here! Will you men start out again with me as soon as it gets light? If you won't I'll raise a new party and search till I drop!” They shook their heads. It was hard, but there was no hope. - “Hoot, laddie,” exclaimed a man of fifty, older and more used to harsh reali- ties. “Can ye no’ face facts? No one has ever found a ball in that rough. It’s gone for good.”....The cold Scotch dawn was breaking as they dragged their stiff limbs from the clubhouse and went to their stricken homes. H.F. heads with a comicbooks.com