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Show A'HELLIE c ! ! i ItEVELL Jays: I yEAKS ago when I migrated to i 1 New York from the Chicago loop j I hung up my hat and unpacked my . suitcase in a small hotel. And while 1 I had many acquaintances in New York I didn't know where to find ! them. The names of the streets and the telephone exchanges were all new . to tne and when an occasion arose to make a memorandum of a name, address ad-dress or 'phone number while eon-versing eon-versing on the telephone, I committed the unpardonable offense so prevalent among thoughtless, busy people of making notations on the wall paper near the instrument. This delinquency delin-quency I had just naturally acquired because of my gypsy habit, of being continually on the move. One evening I returned to my room to dress for dinner at the home of someone I was most anxious to visit and found that in my absence painters i and paperhangers had been busy re-! re-! moving every vestige of a memoran-i memoran-i dtiin while redecorating the walls. Talk about being sunk without warning! warn-ing! Gone was the telephone number num-ber and street address of my prospective pro-spective hostess and as she was not listed In the book my predicament was acute. It was exasperating but it cured me of using the wall paper as a memo pad. While in the hospital recently I had a somewhat similar experience. I had great difficulty in keeping letters containing con-taining aOdresses and other information. informa-tion. After I once laid them down on the table near my bed I could never tell when I would meet them again. Nurses are no respecters of routes and numbers aud when they come in with dust cloth they sweep everything before them. I tried having a pencil and pad attached at-tached to the head of my bed, but they were so hard to reach that It involved ringing for a nurse every time I wanted to copy an address. So I conceived the idea of making notes on the cast which encased my diaphragm and approached my chin. Various and sundry addresses, telephone tele-phone numbers and other data did I commit to it until the day the doctor decided my cast should be reinforced at the particular spot wher it was most convenient to scribble. They trundled me into thfc composing compos-ing room, as the operating room should be called, and there swathed me in long, wide gooey bandages, wet with plaster of paris. When I came to I found I had lost Trixie Friganza's route, a week of Blanche Ring's one-night one-night stands, Zelda Sears' telephone number, three names of books I wanted, want-ed, four words I meant to look up and three ideas for stories. And this wasn't one of them. The singer had just finished a nipst.' pathetic baL'Hu about "Down in ueorgia," and Edwin Franko Goodman, Good-man, the celebrated bandmaster turned his face away to hide his pain. "Excuse me," said his neighbor at the concert, "you seem much affected. Are you a Georgian?" "No," the bandmaster replied. "I am a musician." "Nurse in Syracuse Breaks a Vertebrae Ver-tebrae While Combing Her Hair," said I the headline last week. That's a ! wise crack. Give her credit. Wish I had thought of that one. It beats the I excuse I have for mine being broken. ! And say, girls, isn't that a peach of J an argument in favor of bobbed hair? Below is a bit of poetry in prose, sent to me by an anonymous contrib-I contrib-I utor. It is the sort of thing I wish I might have written myself, so perfect-: perfect-: ly it is fashioned to carry thoughts I have always held and treasured, and nt times wanted to express: "Do not keep the alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up until your friends are dead. Fill r hoi r lives with sweetness, speaking approving, cheering words while their ears can hear them and while their hearts can lie thrilled and made hap pier. The kind tilings you mean to-say to-say when they are gone, say before they go. The flowers you mean to send for those collins. send to brighten and sweeten their homes before they leave them. If my friends have alabaster ala-baster boxes laid away full of fragrant fra-grant perfumes of sympathy and af-I af-I feetion, which they intend to break I over my body, I would much rather j they would bring them out in my j weary and troubled hours, and open I them, that I may he refreshed and i cheered while I need it. I would rather Jiave a plain coffin without a j flower, a funeral without an eulogy. I than a life without the sweetness of love and sympathy. Let us learn to anoint our friends beforehand for their burial. Post-mortem kindness does not cheer the burdened spirit, flowers on the coflin cast no fragrance , backward over the weary way." , Anon. We needn't worry about the death i of chivalry. 1 have been informed by William Faversham. just as long as I the man offers the woman the first ' light. A surer tesl of a gallant na-j na-j lure, I believe, is to offer his last I cigarette. ! s ! The press notices inform me that a i producer is soon to fry 'Dear Itela-' Itela-' lions." a comedy. If most of us tried I our "dear relations," they undoubt-' undoubt-' adly w-ould be found guilty. j tCoDyrliiht by the McNausht Syndic! Inc.) |
