Needless to say the fair charmer, who had been listening somewhat nervously to the initial outbreak, all but collapsed when she heard the final denunciation. If her husband hasn’t heard the story, he’s the only one in town not laughing about it.
The midnight bathing parties in Los Angeles and Hollywood are a little passé just now, on account of the weather for one thing. Since one of our best known citizens was suddenly taken with cramps in one of the Romanesque pools without wearing even his B.V.D.’s, the sport has assumed a classification regarded as “dangerous indoor sports.” In this instance most of those who ran to the troubled man’s assistance are said to have been ladies with—well, the wife of one of our leading politicians was nervous for some weeks lest the newspapers print the names of those present, so we’ll pass her up this time.
The ladies who bathe in midnight pools, especially if considerable liquor has been provided, are not particular about their sea-going attire. They quite often prefer the no-piece bathing suit, although the shock of the water often arouses a sober moment. Then milady wonders with dismay how she can emerge amidst the highly interested group of lookers-on.
The cops who raid the little rooming houses and resorts of the less elite would reap a mighty harvest if they cared to intrude upon Wilshire or Hollywood. But what’s a little party of pajama-clad men and women bred in the purple if the copper gets a few choice jolts.
* * *
Talked Like a Tailor
The members of the choir were practicing the well known anthem “As the Hart Pants After the Water Brooks.”
The rendering of the opening stages was apparently not quite to the satisfaction of the gentleman who wielded the baton.
He considered it necessary, therefore, to tender some advice to the soprano section, and caused great consternation and not a little embarrassment among his flock by the following announcement:
“Ladies, your expression is simply splendid, but the time is very poor—really, your pants are far too long.”