Life — November 2, 1928 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

SKIPPY’S Dear Sooxy: by Aunt Emily finally P L brought up the man_ she’s ercy be engaged of, an I sat next to Crosby him at dinner. I don't think he had a handkerchief with him cause when everybody wasn’t lookin he mopped his face with the napkin. I sized him up as the kind of a guy that'd dunk in your soup when you wasn’t lookin. Oh, but that ain't the worst of it! I giggled right out when we said grace, I bope I'll be forgiven. When this fellow bent his head down, his back collar but- ton flipped out an his collar goes over his head like he had the toothache or mumps. You know how pretty Aunt Emily is, an I was awfully surprised. I think we all was, only I showed it more. I could of dug up a better guy for Aunt Emily down in the car shops an I wouldn't have to go surryin around either. We all sat around the drawing-room after an Pop fiddled with the radio. The fellow that’s time-scorer came on an told us in one minute it'd be eight o'clock. We all got set like a relay race, everybody with their watches out, an when the gong sounded we all set them—except Pop. He was awful disappointed cause his was already just eight o'clock. After that there was nothin to do, We were all set with no place to go. Everybody looked at every- LETTERS body else. Rudolph said, “Oh, Emily, did you show them your ring?” An Aunt Emily said, “Oh, didn’t I show it to you before? Isn't it beautiful?” Mom says, “That's a real blue an white,” an Pop says, “It’s a regular trol- ley light.” I struck a fiiatch an took a look at it. Well, after I was sent up to my room I could hear Rudolph singin downstairs, “Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot,” an I thought to myself, “Any guy that would whittle a pinhead an call it a diamond ought to be forgot.” An I guess I wasn’t far wrong cause they went very short after an Pop put his head in the door. He doesn’t say nothin but his mouth goes up one side an then the other like a see-saw jugglin two cres- cent moons. “Come on, big boy he says, “T feel like a comedy tonight. Let’s go up to the Orpheum.” I said, “All right, Pop, but the sodas are on me.” So I goes over to the Sunday School barrel an starts shakin it, but ya couldn't hear a thing. Pop said, “What! Nothing in the Sunday School barrel?” I began to get red in the face. It looked like the Orpheum was beginnin to fade away. He said, “Do you mean to tell me you've been borrowing out of that?” An I said, ‘Well, I'll tell you how it is, Papa. I've got a list of everything I've taken out,” an I went over an fished the list out from under the carpet. It didn’t take him long to see that I was givin the Church a break even if I was a little be- hind in my payments. Anyway, he put all the money back in the barrel right out of his own pocket an even a quarter more! I'm goin right around tomorrow morning an give all the money in to the minister though, cause you ought to see the whistles that Barkenteen’s have in now. Only yesterday 1 woulda had one of them very whistles. No more though. Affectionately sincere, Ballade of Repletion In locker rooms where golfers lie Upon settees about their score; In ballrooms where tuxedos hic With spangled silks about the floor One topic’s ever to the fore— Perennially grateful news To all but me; to me—no more I don’t care where you get your booze! Time was when even as you was I. I too could tell where many a store Of smuggled Pommery (extra dry) Lay hidden on some near-by shore. Cases of Scotch (the real pre-war) Were mine in schooner loads to choose. To bootleg men I never swore, “I don’t care where you get your booze!”” But years of it have lessened my Delight at having someone roar, “Say, here's some stuff you gotta try! The truck just left it at the door. I got it from—" but here I snore, Feigning an adenoidal snooze, And tell my host, should he get sore, “I don’t care where you get your booze. L'Envor “Brother, your story is a bore So long as you have mint to bruise And don’t mind mixing ‘em galore I don’t care where you get your booze!”” Baron Ireland, AN‘ INFANT TALKIE Ir was a long time before the Smythe baby uttered anything like speech, One morning, however, he smiled, wrinkled up his nose and blurted a couple of syllables. “Oh, Walter!” cried Mrs. Smythe with glee. “I think Junior’s going to be a great impressionistic artist. The very first thing he said was ‘gaga’!”” VOTE FOR ROGERS VOTE FOR SMITH VOTE FOR HOOVER suT — OTE! comicbooks.com