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The puma forget herself and thumped her tail so hard on the wire netting that Joe looked up just asshe was ready to jump. Joe jumped first.
DRAWINGS
BY HERB ROTH
$®V°
LETTERS
of
Property MAN
BY HERBERT STEPHEN
Red Ink Inn,
Wells, Maine, January 24, 1930.
DEAR Misspent half of my life: Just where in the contract of life and strife do you find the right to bawl me out for taking a shot or two? Just when did you go Volstead? I never seed you passin up anything that looked like it had a whirl of pep in it. Who always had to hide the bottle in our palace of burnt food and squeaking relatives? Not you. You never even saved an overnight shot to take the dog hair out of your fur-lined talk factory the morning after. Why we even had to go without one of those new fangled refrigerators so as you could have cracked ice in big chunks for that old bean of yours when the milkman woke you up with the dumb waiter bell around noon.
You and your squeak about my liquoring up reminds me of Joe Francis, when he played the part of a collarreversed dominie in a den of lions. Both you and Joe's girl were and are due for a hanging on the line to dry.
Joe and his eye-soothing piece of calico-wearing actorine were working for the old Boastwick outfit, back in the days when silence was what was wanted in motion pictures, B. C. old thinkless, Before Commotion pictures. Boastwick had a troupe of animals if you should care to remember back that far. And they was wild animules too, though they was supposed to be trained. Yeah they was trained all right — trained to hop on you the first chance they got. And sometimes they forgot to wait for the chance, they made it to fit the occasion.
The trainers that Boastwick sent out with the brutes was all foreigners, Heinies, Frogs and Limeys with only one he-American in the outfit. And they was all twohanded hustlers of the stein and wine glass, though they
hard liquor more, ike the hired help more happy and also more careless they had a saloon on the opposite corner to the old Chutes Park, where the tourists and the yaps could give the "Greatest Collection of Man-Eating Animals in Existence, all for the sum of one dime, the tenth part of a dollar," the once-over.
Betty, that was Joe's idea of what should be getting out his carpet slippers for him every night, had joined the troupe that was making dramatic serials on the lot. She and Joe was to be spliced in the Spring, providing they could save enough dough and that Joe would stick on the seat of the sprinkling cart.
JOE had just been let out by the Universart for some fast foot work when the head propertyman's back was turned. He was up against it plenty for the necessary to meet the insurance policy and for the weekly deposit at that place you never seem to find, the savings bank. I was handling the business end of the troupe that was doing Stanley in Darkest Africa. We was way behind on animal picture releases so Howsley, the big boss, decided to make the animals pay dividends. He would put on another troupe and work the animals and the trainers every day. That was Jake with us, we would not have to try to make actors of these furriners and be held up all day.
Joe was scared to death of the animals. I can't blame him much, I never felt like kissing one myself. But
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