Radio mirror (Nov 1937-Apr 1938)

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RADIO MIRROR HAS DECIDED TO 6HIE COUSIN MARY A E5T CHRISTMAS &IFT VVHEN MYSTERIOUS PACKAGE ARRIVES. MARVELS AS IT SCOOTS UNDER. LOYJ FURNITURE AND STA*Y-ON BUMPERS PREVENT SCRATCHING. SEES THAT SHE CAN USE BISSELL FOR DAILY CLEAN-UPS, SAVING VACUUM FOR GENERAL CLEANING . AND ... BISSELL The really better sweeper Grand Rapids, Mich. FINDS IT'S A BISSELL TAG&60 " MERRY CHRISTMAS FROr/i COUSIN MARY". THRILLED AT THE WAV IT CLEANS AND HI-LO BRUSH CONTROL ADJUSTS ITSELF TO ANY RUO NAP. DECIDES TO &IVE COUSIN MARY A REAL &IFT TOO . "Thanks, Mary!— my new Bissell cleans beautifully!" And no wonder— for it's the only sweeper with Hi-Lo Brush Control. Any one of the colorful new models will make a grand gift. Models from $3.95 to $7.50 EXPERT COOKING ADVICE FROM IDA BAILEY ALLEN Through special arrangement with Ida Bailey Allen's publishers, I, as food editor of Radio Mirror, can offer my readers her best-selling 196-page Service Cook Book for 20c. Send stamps or coins to: Mrs. Margaret Simpson, RADIO MIRROR, 205 E. 42nd St., New York City From a MEDICAL JOURNAL: "The researches (of these doctors) led them to believe that colds result from an acid condition. To overcome this, they prescribe various alkalies." 68 Mr. Fields practically ignoring me and turning to Mr. Don Ameche. who is master of ceremonies at our Sunday Kaffee Klatches. But I insisted: "I can't forget it. I've been thinking about it ever since last Sunday." "Perish the thought. Forget about it." "That's big of you, Mr. Fields. And now do you feel sorry that you said I was full of termites?" I was propping up my amour propre. "Oh 1 guess I do," he murmured. "1 guess I do. I really haven't had time to give it much thought." Then Bergen stepped in as mediator: "Charlie really loves you, Mr. Fields." "Yes indeed I do. But 1 don't think Mr. Fields loves me." "This has gone far enough," said Mr. Fields, pulling himself up to his full height and raising his redwo — his nose. "I've been a gentleman up to now but he's not going to tell me that I don't love him. I'll break every knot in his body. Another thing I want to tell you . . . you didn't know that I was in Bergen's dressing room this afternoon and I heard Charlie telling Dorothy Lamour that from the looks of my nose I must have been weaned on ketchup. . . Dirty little rat, he's a wool in sheep's clothing!" IT was after this incident that Mr. Fields ■ told me to sew (I have always wondered why he didn't say "nail") a button on my lip. He threatened to rip off my bark and bite off my limbs, to sick a woodpecker on me, and to prune every twig on my body. Of course I felt like a stuffed shirt doing it, but I decided it was time to take legal action. I've learned. Never again. Never put the "b" for barrister on the honey-toned Mr. Fields. The man is a sorcerer. He hypnotized my lawyer. Hyp-hip-hooray! This is what happened. I decided to sue Mr. Fields for ?12.000, defamation of character, alienation of affections, slander, breach of etiquette, breach of faith, breach of friendship. Bergen had his doubts about collecting. "Do you stand a chance?" he asked me. "Blatt, Blab, Brag and Pecksniff never fail." my lawyer said, pulling himself up haughtily. "Greetings, Charles, my diminutive little chum," Mr. Fields said as my lawyer and I (and Bergen — he gets into everything) entered. "Hello, Mr. Fields," I answered. "And greetings to you, Counsellor." said Mr. Fields, in melting tones. "Pardon me for complimenting you on your beautiful blond beard. Didn't you used to play the tuba in the House of David Band? How's everything up at Benton Harbor?" "Very fine, thank you, very fine," answered the lawyer. "But let's get on with the case, M.x. Fields. I have come here to represent my client, one Charles McCarthy, to institute proceedings against you for $12,000. "Mr. Fields, we are prepared to press the following charges — defamation of character, alienation of affection, loss of services, threatened intent to assault, battery, mayhem and murder . . . et al. Mr. Fields, did you or did you not, on the 9th of May last, refer to the plaintiff as a piece of sassafras root." "That's what he called me, all right." I blurted out. "Yes, yes, I did," admitted the defendant. "He admits it!" 1 shrieked. "But sassafras root is very dear to my heart, barrister," said Mr. Fields, wiping a tear from his eye with a purple handkerchief. "I was weaned on sassafras root." "Oh, how that man can lie! Don't you believe him, counsellor."