Ah, you would
have liked Jack London. Did you know him? You know, we live in an age of
jazz. Yes, sir, the tempo is fast. Life has lost its andante. Materialism
has triumphed. There is no longer room for the spirit to expand. Machines
are in the way. Noises invade the sanctity of meditative hours."
* * * * *
It was cold outside the cigar store. The man from yesterday stepped into
the street. He stood smiling for a moment and for the moment in the
courteous friendliness of his rheumy eyes, in the mannerly tilt of his
head there was the picture of a sophisticated gentleman of the world
nodding an adieu outside his favorite chophouse. Then he turned. The
mannerly tilt vanished. There was to be seen a man--fifty, sixty or
seventy, it was hard to tell how old--shuffling tiredly down the street,
his body huddled together and his shoulders shivering.
THUMBNAIL LOTHARIOS
Here's the low down, gentlemen. The Miserere of the manicurist. Peewee,
the Titian-haired Aphrodite of the Thousand Nails has been inveigled into
submitting her lipstick memoirs to the public eye.
Peewee is the melting little lady with the vermilion mouth and the cooing
eyes who manicures in a Rialto hotel barber shop.
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