Life — May 3, 1928 — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

30 Bridges I Have Known of Aldermen. The bridge had been a particularly high one and my father had been very proud of it. .. “It's the dandiest one we've ever fooled around with,” he had informed some of his competitors at the Man- hattan Bridge Club during its erection. So he must have been cruelly disap- pointed when one of our field inspectors dashed into the office the day after it had been unveiled. “You know that new bridge that you've just put up in the sheep meadow in Central Park, Mr. Gonnick?” he gasped. es,” said my father. said the field man. “What's happened, Beverly?” said Coyote Pizen Boys, the game is up. I've been trail- ing that killing for five years, and now—" he slapped his inside pocket from the outside—"I have the proofs. James Pierson was murdered by a man who had a scar on his neck. Have any of you,” he ed sternly, “ever known Butch Hawkins to wash his neck?” The roar of a six-gun interrupted the exclamations of surprise. With the savage scream of a wild animal trapped at last, Hawkins had started fanning. But Black's pearl-handled — smoke Life my father, wrong. “Go on up and see,” said Beverly. “There’s nothing there now but the sheep meadow. Overnight the bridge has been torn down by hoodlums in the employ of the Board of Aldermen.” That night father said little but it was evident that he was thinking deeply. Next morning he asked me to go with him to an architect's office. For a half-hour he was closeted with the architect listening to how houses were built and sold. Then he came out. “I've got it, Joey,” he said as we started along the street toward our fac- tory. ‘We've been following a risky business for years in putting up bridges sensing something was wagon was even quicker. The hand that could change a jack of clubs into three no-trumps need not waver in find- ing the heart of a coward. Butch Hawkins slumped to the ground. Bend- ing over him, with two quick swipes of the bar rag—pardon me, the teacup towel—Richard Black of the Rangers proved his contention. Weeping wildly, Molly Pierson ran from her place in back of the cashier's desk and cast herself into the ready arms of the avenger of her father’s death. Rough and uncouth as were those sons of the West, there was not (Continued from page 23) and hoping people would like thea From now on we build no bridges without a written order from the peop) who want bridges and have the dollar in the bank with which to pay for then The age of co-operation is here!” The next day father began Betting towns and cities to take an active ip. terest in their aerial thoroughfares, | firmly believe that the bridge industy, was advanced fifty years by what he at first seemed like a pretty kettle of fish. (This is the eighth of a series ¢ articles by Joseph L. Gonnick, as toi to Lucy Bannister Hoop. Another article in this series will be published in the next Burlesque Number.) (Continued from page 29) one of them but turned away his head “Waal,” said Greasewood Dorgan, digging his life-long partner, Flapjad Hurley, in the ribs, “y’ danged ok maverick-rustlin’ waddy, looks like thar was to be a weddin’ around these bya parts, hyar, soon like.” As he hacked himself off a potest chaw of U. S. Plug, Hurley chuckled softly. “Weddin’,” he answered. “Shucks, Greasewood, I should hope spit in yore mesquite!” THE END What to Do, What to Do (Continued from page 1+) is no need to worry over what is to ap- pear on the “table” on any particular occasion. For people in moderate cir- cumstances, however, it is best to ask the guests to bring their own sand- wiches and hard-boiled eggs, and pro- vide salt, paper napkins, and pine tables for their entertainment. They will think the more of you for it. As for your husband's brother. I can offer but little advice. Such things happen even in the highest circles. You can always tell him that you have been called out of town, that the dinner is to be given the week after the actual date, or that all of those invited have contagious “diseases”; but see what any of that gets you. High Hat (Continued from page 15) then Mac clambered down into the “boozelage” (Ha! Ha!) (Hic) and trilled, “Ye Gods, Junior, our fuel’s gone stale.” “No—not that!" I cried. ---"Yes, that. It’s been here (Hic) for daze and daze” (days and days)... “Wotta we gonna do?” gargled Mac. ..."We gotta (Hic) have new fuel,” I screamed....‘‘No, we don’t gotta have new fuel,” said the man who said he (Hic) wasn’t Barney Gallant... .““Why not new fuel?” curtsied I an’ Mac.... “Cause there’s no fuel like an old fuel,” cracked the man who said he wasn’t Barney Gallant....Hey! Hey! (Hic) (Haec) (Hoc) (Hooey) (Hooey) (Hooey). Judge, Jr. Is Perpetuum Mobile an Ignis Fatuus? (Continued from page 18) Subsequent to Leibkiichen’s death by slow boiling in oil there has been li activity in perpetual motion exper mentation, as can easily be imagined. Nevertheless, when we come to? consideration of the possibility of fee less propulsion, we must be careful pt to brand as “hoaxe: tempts of innovators to 2 forces of friction and_ inertia. haps, in the welter of spurious app ratus designed merely to dupe the credulous, there may be one day 4 bona fide perpetual motion machine which will solve our human problems Till then, we can only hope and pry and subscribe regularly for the Sciex tiric AMERICAN. comicbooks.com