Life — August 2, 1928 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

LIFE THE MAIN STEM Dear Pat Wittarp: The torrid spells have been knocking over more people than copies of the Saturday Evening Post lately but roasting still is a favorite diversion in the various Broad- way dining-rooms these noons. I still have a stitch in my side from sitting back and getting an carful of swift repartee swapped by fellows who keep telling the other guy where to get off when they can’t get on themselves. It’s really an old game but it hasn't a name yet. A good title I think would be: “Ouch! Take that knife outta my back!” It is great fun when you are not the tar- get and if you can think as fast as your tormentors. At any rate, one Anglo- Klaxon, who even makes a noise when he is buttoning his coat, started picking on a little chap the other luncheon, and the victim came back in this manner: “And what are you, anyway? You are noth- ing but a mere press agent. Somebody lays an egg—and you cackle!” Bugs Baer summed up both contestants as follows: “They are just the types whose spines you tap to find enough yellow with which to paint the barn!" The next time you come to Broadway I'll have you over there and then you will get a rough idea. They are all right in their way, I suppose, Willard, but what makes me chuckle is that while they sit back and knock the other fellow, the other fellow is invariably perspiring in some office over some proposition that brings him the dough that his critics have to borrow. I guess the rags out your way have also carried the story about the Commit- tee of Fourteen who consumed several seasons discovering that Broadway is a very naughty thoroughfare. Hehehch! Imagine, Willard. The committee, it ap- pears, was startled in finding out that the whoopee-parlors (as Mr. Hershfield would say) were nothing but sin dens where night-club hostesses enticed some- body’s son out of money and sent him into a crying jag. In other words, the Broadway girls were weighed in the bal- ance and found wanton. (It was Mr. Hanemann who first said that.) I suppose the committee will sooner or later discover that there really isn’t a Horse-Sroe Pitcher: Hooray! A ringer! “I'se gwine be on my vacation fo’ de nex’ three weeks.” “How come?” “My wife's entered one o’ Marathons.” dem Dance broken heart for every light on Broad- way (even if there is a broken arch for every heel on it). J. P. McEvoy, in his new book, “Show Girl,” spells Whoopie his own way. He'll never live THAT down! There 1s a delightful song called “Dream Boat” on the market, “What D'Ya Say?” from “Scandals” is pretty and Ted Lewis has revived “Alexander's Ragtime Band” for the discs and it gets 7 you as hot as an afternoon in Mon- tana. I hope you're not worried about me here on this side of the Smith & Wesson Line where the gang- sters still think it is the Fourth of July. They are not bother- ing people who mind their own business, Willard, which anyone will tell you is the Stem’s Unwritten Law. I was listen- ing to one Baumes law candidate last night brag about his fearlessness. He is the leader of a notorious outfit and he was saying that he feared no police, prison or perjurer. His only worry is that some third-rate gangster will sneak up on him and shoot him just to get himself a reputation, It’s been done, you know! Walter Winchell. EXONERATED Juvce: You say the accused gagged this complainant and that the latter was unable to raise an outcry? Orricer: Yes, Your Honor. He forced him to swallow a peanut-butter sandwich. comicbooks.com \| WI Fre hu