Life — March 22, 1929 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

12 Fespruary 25—Landed early at Charleston from the good ship Cherokee, and whilst Sam was get- ting the car off the boat— apparently reassembling it from its parts, judging by the time he was ab- sent—I did chat with some of the wharf negroes about whom Du Bose Heyward writes, but none of them knew Porgy. Off to revisit St. Michael's and its graveyard, marking how Hayne’s widow had caused almost a book to be wrote on his tombstone extolling his services to his state and to the union, and how now his name might not be known outside of South Carolina if Daniel Webster had not once sassed him back. But I do con- sider the interior of this old church disappointing, in spite of the sexton’s cloquence, the most impressive fea- tures, to me, being the central chande- lier and the Sheraton chairs in the Governor's pew. Thence to the public market to buy some peanuts, having noted the prevalence of their shells in the streets, Sam avowing his constant by Baird Leonard Boss: Spring fever, my eye! Life fear of arrest by the Gerry Society for having married a minor, and so to the Battery by way of the old houses on Legare Street, and then on our way to Aiken, stopping at the Mag- nolia Gardens, where nought was in bloom, unfortunately, save a few japonicas, incredibly beautiful flowers. But I did get several whiffs of tea- olive, which alone was worth the ex- travagant price of admission, and I do wish that some parfumeur could cap- ture its fragrance in a bottle, for then I should use no other scent. To the Pine Forest Inn at Summerville for luncheon, to which Sam sat down in a grim silence for that I had protested against his speeding unduly over the slippery red clay, but inasmuch as he was obliged to write our requirements from the menu, he must needs address me to find out how to spell “vege- tables” in order not to shame himself before the waiter, so that I was able to excuse my temerity gently, telling him that albeit the world might have come to be a sucked orange for him, to me it was still an oyster, and that I did not choose to die deliberately without having snubbed Angie Holt effectively or having finished “The and you'll get one if I catch you! “See, Seymour, he wouldn't eat his spinach.” French Revolution”. Nor have [ yet worn my new tobacco brown evening chiffon, neither. Encountering Mistress Bowers of Cooperstown, she did cau- tion us to take all mud ruts in first, which was music to my ears, for Lord! Sam had been charging them as though it were Harvard’s third down with (Continued on Page 24) What you need is a good kick to wake you up, comicbooks.com