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Show Man About Town: How British! Lord Louis Mount-batten, Mount-batten, the ex-Captain of the Illustrious, Illus-trious, will soon be making front page news again, but that's a naval secret. He was telling us about the sinking of the Hood by the Bismarck and the way the Bismarck was chased, trapped and destroyed. Mountbatten suggested that the complete exciting sea saga be given to the newspapers to cheer lovers of freedom. "Heavens, no!" ejaculated the Admiral. "No more publicity. The incident has had too much of a press as it is!" Observation: Eddy Duchin says he's surprised that none of the isolationist iso-lationist editors headlined it this way: "American Destroyer Rams Nazi Torpedo!" We've Met Her: A lovely blonde walked into a night spot, nose in air. Someone cracked: "She's sure putting on the dog since she's been to the Coast." "You mean," Dick Todd elaborated, elaborat-ed, "she's gone Hollywoof!" I Don't Believe It: Rosemary Lane met a panhandler who asked for a nickel feracuppacawfee and her name and address! "Why my name and address?" "Oh, don't get me wrong," he replied, re-plied, "I want my secretary to drop you a note of thanks." By Way of Report: Most papers missed this bit at the Bioff-Browne trial, where testimony about thousand thou-sand dollar bills is being tossed about like confetti. Judge John C. Knox, who has a sensayuma, was questioning Nick Schenck of MGM, who was having trouble remembering remember-ing his annual income. "Well, just try to give it to us approximately, ap-proximately, within $75,000," said Hizzoner, whose record is the best on the federal bench, whose decisions deci-sions involve billions and whose salary sal-ary is $10,000 a year. Idiom's Delight: Seymour Berk-son Berk-son of Int'l News contributed this one to the book of anecdotes called "The Best I Know." An American Reporter was summoned to the office of-fice of the Moscow censor, who angrily an-grily objected to this dispatch: "The American Ambassador stood within a stone's throw of Stalin ..." "What do you mean by this outrageous out-rageous insult?" thundered the censor. cen-sor. "You know perfectly well that he didn't throw a stone at Mr. Stalin!" The reporter finally explained it was an American idiom. "So?" said the dope. "In that case we change it anyway. Make it: 'The American Ambassador stood near Stalin. He threw NO stones!' " Uncommon Sense: Conrad Thi-bault Thi-bault tells of the three appeasers who were crossing the Arabian Desert "Look," said one, "there's an ostrich with its head in the sand. Isn't it a silly bird?" The ostrich jerked back its beak and intoned: "When I have my head in the sand I have enough sense to keep my mouth shut!" Notes of an Innocent Bystander: Typewriter Ribbons: Nicholas Murray Butler: Many people's tombstones should read: "Died at 30, buried at 60" . . . Ambrose Bierce's definition of ambition: An overmastering desire to be vilified by enemies while living and made ridiculous by friends when dead . . . Anon: Lions of society are tigers for publicity . . . Elsie McCormick: People who live in pleasant places always act as if the weather was their own personal achievement . . . Geo. B. Shaw's definition of a pessimist: pessi-mist: A man who thinks everybody as nasty as himself, and hates them for it . . . Wm. Lyon Phelps: This is the final test of a gentleman: his respect for those who can be of no possible service to him . . . PM: He enjoys diving into a good book and pulling a paragraph over his head. The Story Tellers: The title of Nina Wilcox Putnam's Your Life piece is: "I Was Too Fat to Love." That's a variation of the true confession con-fession theme. There the confessor is usually too fat-headed . . . Ex-Warden Ex-Warden Lawes in Click writes of J. Weil, the "con" man, who used to wear a beard to appear dignified and who claimed he could only fleece a person who was crooked in his heart . . . The grid experts who invade the mags at this time of the yeai remind you of most military experts. Their pieces may make sense, but not many make them interesting. in-teresting. Manhattan Murals: The bootblack who massages your shoes with a rag bearing the likeness of Hitler . . . The sign on the old flivver parked on 8th Avenue: "Don't laugh this one's paid for!" . . . The downtown luncheonette with the nifty nif-ty name: "The Club Sandwich". . . The restaurant on Route 22 called "Never Inn." B'way Byron's Definition of Carry-in' Carry-in' the Torch No. 38G528: When You Throw Your Heart at Her Feet and It Doesn't Even Trip Her. |