Life — October 12, 1928 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

raise those delays rming LIFE 13 om MRS. PEP’S DIARY by SepremBer 19—Awake be- Baird times, quafing my new morning tipple of pepper- Leonard — mint essence and charged water, the most refresh- ing beverage that ever I drank in my life, and then Marge Boothby in, all a-twitter because her loss of weight is now marked by her acquaintance without her mentioning it first. M. full of news, too, telling how much worse is the state of poor Jim Mitchell, who now, on the rare occasions when he is semi-conscious, does ring up his friends on no pretext so- ever merely to inform the world that he is aapable of enunciating a simple declara- tive sentence. Lord! how I do love and miss Jim, who did always seem to me to be giving a perfect imitation of Leon Errol, but I have had to forbid him the house since we had the two rare vases given us by Hilda and Gardner Gilsey made into lamps. Marge’s new penthouse finished and she well established therein, albeit she sleeps but fitfully on the bal- cony for fear that she could not escape an intruding marauder, so I did counsel her to buy one of those parachutes used by aviators and keep it hard by her pillow and then, should a prowler approach, she could open it and leap over the balustrade. The gossip is that Amy Orpen, depressed by the financial misfortunes which have befallen her family, has taken to reading various books on the psychology of cheer, and the other day she did find a splendid one which did set forth so eloquently that we are actually rich if we can but bring ourselves to think so that Amy closed the volume without finishing it and went out and spent five thousand dollars, but Marge could not tell me what she spent it for, a matter I should much like to know. I have indeed found for myself that buying something which I cannot afford brings me a deal of pleasure, but Thave also learned that such bliss en- dures no longer than the first of the en- suing month. To luncheon on the St. Regis roof, which is the current vogue, and the too propinquous band did so frenzy me with their volume and jumpy tunes that when they quitted the room for a moment I was for smashing the fiddles. which they left on their chairs, but M. would not let me. Made a meal on Madrilene, veal with spaghetti, and orange ice, then, since I was the only woman in the place wearing a straw hat, to a milliner, but I could not be suited. Home betimes, and to the chaise-longue , | for my rest, struggling desperately to relax by idle reflections on various matters, and I am resolved, for one thing, to mend my manners, feeling that I am become too selfish. Seldom, for instance, do I ask other women how their husbands are, a question which persons do invariably put to me about Sam, and albeit I am not greatly concerned about Tom, Dick and Harry's health and should probably flee the spot if it were told to me with the slightest detail, I must nevertheless re- member to make the effort of inquiry. 1 am also minded, as is usual with me at this time of year, to do some good his- torical reading this winter, but when I did tell Sam, he quoth, “Yes, and how about brushing up your French and taking a pew at St. Bartholomew's?” so mayhap nought will come of it. Dinner at home, and all the evening reading in Mrs. Whar- ton’s new book, which is far better than her last, thank God, and I do think she has the greatest aptitude for naming char- acters that exists in fiction, and the qual- ity of her perception makes most of her contemporaries seem but little boys and girls who have heard or seen nought as yet. And I was in especial tickled with the episode where Marun did laugh aloud to himself in his hotel until a nervous spin- ster in the next room did beat on the wall and shout, “I can hear every word that both of you are saying!” There’s Something About Those Names “Just talking with—hang it!—you know the fellow who wears the gold-rimmed spectacles.”” “Smith?” “Yes, Smith. He told me to call him up some time, but I can’t remember the number he gave me. Said no one ever forgets it.” “Columbus 1492?” “That's it! Well, I hadn't seen Smith since the time I met him on a train going to Chicago—or was it Detroit? It might have been Pittsburgh. I've forgotten, but it was all of two years—no, three years ago. However, I distinctly remember the Pullman we were riding in was named Pascagoula... ..” Bill Sykes. Wuen in doubt don’t play Auc- tion Bridge. “Alas!” said the modern sculptor. “I can never complete my masterpiece! I have eaten my model.” comicbooks.com