Page:The New Yorker 0002, 1925-02-28.pdf/25

THE NEW YORKER ENTRANCES- APT 5 APT3 CATE ART.6 NO.1 Kance over

OPERA HATS shadows toward the river. A lamp-post rides in the fog APT.4 like a ship's lantern; a course, has a right to be woman halts beneath it to judged by the number of say: "Hello, kid, you goin' opera hats it ventures to APT. 2 any place?" to a sailor pass- wear. Our American civi- ing ... rain. lization, as some one was Snorting serpent coiled saying only recently, is still APT 7 APARTMENT along the river bank. Gruff young, and that perhaps is belches of smoke, one-two, APT 8 why so many caps are to be one-two, rattling nearer. seen on the street. Ever in The freight approaches, the van, I take pleasure, and dragging empty cars at the same time fulfil a pub- the rails....One-two, lic duty, in printing here- nearer, white smoke through with a necessarily incomplete the fog. Passes; snow- list of those New Yorkers Ground Plan of a Modern Model Apartment who already have opera hats House. No Kitchen Is Laid Out But All A part- capped smoke and caverns ments Lead Into a Delicatessen Store at the Hub. sunset-color; fires and a and wear them on not infre- sweating stoker. One-two, quent occasons. one-two, distance; dead cars The list, as has been hinted, is a cultural document clatter over the ties like tin cans tied to a cur's tail, of great value. At the same time, it seems clear, it rattling into silence ... gone... will prove to be a sucker list second in value only to A sudden taxi grinds its brakes and shrieks to a halt; the recent income tax publications. the driver peers out. "Chris'! did you hear that?” I am already preparing, for future issues, a list of "What?" "Thought I heard a woman scream." prominent citizens with (a) gold-headed canes, (b) "Aw, it wasn't nothin'. ..." It comes again from gray derbies and (c) heavy seal rings. the bushes, a call of agony, the voice that cries out of nightmares. Two passersby halt; then turn and walk SHOCK TROOPS OF THE OPERA HAT BRIGADE rapidly away. The taxi-driver throws in his clutch, starts his cab: "Guess I'd better get a cop," he mut- Name Address Occupation John F. Hylan ters, disappearing. ... waiting for the cop... latter City Hall ... Mayor day Samaritans.-Corey Ford Leon Gordon 158 W. 45th St... Playwright Manry Paul 25 W. 420 St. Cholly Knickerbocker Otto H. Kahn A Sparkling Caress Sinks In 1100 sth Ave.............. Banker Marc Connelly 152 W. 57th St...... Playwright From the essay on Florida, in "These United Gilbert Miller Empire Theatre ........Producer States": Bernard M. Baruch. 598 Madison Ave........Banker George Jean Nathan What the landscape lacks in plastic beauty it compensates .....44 W. 44th St.... Critic John McE. Bowman... Biltmore Hotel for by its suave and delicate coloring, the luminous cloud Hotel Man Alexander Woollcott ....... 412 W. 47th St. pictures that lift its flatness into the roaring magic of argo- Critic Herbert Bayard Swope.... The World sies and Walhallas, and the sparkling caress of its air, Editor Raymond Hitchcock........... Great Neck, L. I... woven of sea tang, sunbeam and pine, with something in- ......Actor Charles Hanson Townc..... 33 W. 42d St.. describably mellow that is at once languorous and inspirit- Bachelor Gerald Brooks .... ing and pleasantly confusing to the senses; so that one 50 W. 9th St.... Broker soon feasts one's eyes on the warmth about one, and feels --The Eskimo the healing radiance of color soak into one's highly sen- Nothing of the genre, as Tex Rickard would say, Highlights has been lovelier since Mark Twain word-painted that wildwood above which "a solitary esophagus slept WIND from the river sweeps rain before it; whip- upon motionless wing.” ping coat-tails around wet legs, running damp fingers through the hair. Cold, dripping trees shud- The critics bawl in loud dispraise, der, spill great drops from soggy branches. ... Riverside Drive.. "What dirty, dirty plays we've got!" long winding serpent coiled I can't say if they are or not- along the river bank, glistening ... autos like a thou- sand flashing scales, darting, glinting, now here, now I never go to dirty plays. there, heliograph. Purring tread tires, blurred lamps; running balls of light. Walks stretching into dark- Fred Pagan of Paterson, two years old, swallowed ness, past the damp walls feebly bearded with ivy. a pin which was later removed by a New York sur- Concrete benches deserted, no sailors and girls, no geon. Pagan could give no motive for his act, strong blue arm and furry bobbed head nestling.. Two figures approach, pause ... "the price of a meal, If ministers continue to elope with choir singers, buddy?" "Sorry, just gave my last cent to fel- the New York police department will have to organ- ler. Below the wall long lawns roll under ize a Bureau of Missing Parsons. sitized pores. Digitized by Google