Page:The New Yorker 0004, 1925-03-14.pdf/21



"Good Lord ! Here I've come away on a week-end without my jew's-harp!"

JUST want to remind Leonard Hatch that we of the business world cannot stand still—we must go ahead. The idea he speaks of (that of substituting code phrases for after-dinner speeches) was all right for last week; we have gone far since then. We are using numbers instead of words.

Let me illustrate the increased saving in time with a partial report of the dinner held at the Pompadour last night.

The wall behind the speakers' table was simply decorated with the national cuolors and papier-mâché radiators (it was a meeting of the National Radiator Association.) Against this background the shaggy head of that fine old battler, George F. Kuh, of Kuh, Ah & Pnuh, made a rare picture as he rose and swept the gathering with his keen, undimmed eye.

Mr. Kuh said:

"27."

One felt the weight of these simpie words of welcome, none the less sincere for their striking brevity. (No. 27 is a specch of only two thousand words.)

John Slemp, representing the visiting Sioux City radiator men, rose in response. With head inclined and one hand toying with the chewing gum fork he waited until silence was restored and then remarked quietly:

"7—208."

The well-turned witticism at the end of this address relieved the tension and precipitated the big, hearty crowd of good fellows into laughter and applause.

An untoward incident somewhat marred the address of Borough President Schneeweiss, however. He got into action breezily, his massive form radiating vigor and good will.

He said, trembling with undisguised emotion:

"48."

Here a guest who happened to have an automatic with him fired six shots at Mr. Schneeweiss, but happily none took effect, A number of coffee cups were better aimed and the gentleman was rendered unconcious for some minutes.

On being revived, he explained that his near-sightedness had led him to mistake the number 43 ("God Hates a Knocker") for 48 ("The Benefits of Bolshevism.")

The roar of applause, the beating of teaspoons on the table and the enthusiastic ripping of planks from the floor which greeted Mr. Schneeweiss' corrected speech showed that all the world still loves a booster.

I need report no more to make the theory plain. Unless some outsider introduces an irregular idea into the repertoire of after dinner speaking, this system will continue 100 per cent. efficient.

—Ernest F. Hubbard

I am immediately besieged with invitations to dinner.

I am told of a restaurant where they serve delicious meals for virtually nothing.

Everywhere I go, food is the chief topic of conversation.

I long for everything except what I am supposed to eat.

I learn of all the dreadful things that happened to poor old Smithers who also went on the same diet.

I hear of a "very much better" kind of diet.

I invariably fall off the next day.—C. G. S.