Radio mirror (May-Oct 1936)

RADIO MIRROR What makes a girl UA JOAN is pretty. She is smart. And she is asked everywhere. Barbara looks at Joan with secret envy. For Barbara, too, is pretty. And she is smart. But evening after evening, she is left at home alone. Why? What makes one girl "click" socially and another fail, when both are equally good-looking? The truth is, Barbara could be just as popular as Joan if it were not that she is careless — careless about something no girl can afford to overlook. You can't blame people for avoiding the girl or woman who is careless about underarm perspiration odor. It's too unpleasant to tolerate in anyone, no matter how pretty she may be. There's really no excuse for it these days when Mum makes it so easy to keep the underarms fresh, free from every trace of odor. Just half a minute is all you need to use Mum. Then you're safe for the whole day! Use it any time — after dressing, as well as before. It's harmless to clothing. It's soothing to the skin, too — so soothing you can use it right after shaving your underarms. Depend upon Mum to prevent all unpleasant perspiration odor, without preventing perspiration itself. Use it daily, and no one will ever have this reason to avoid you! Bristol-Myers, Inc., 630 Fifth Avenue, New York. MUM 1* ON SANITARY NAPKINS. Guard against this source of unpleasantness with Mum. No more doubt and worry when you use Mum! takes the odor out of perspiration The greatest popular singer on radio; think of it." Everybody thought of it with alcoholic gravity. Jake grabbed Jimmy's arm and piloted him to the side door; he shoved him through. There was a microphone in the middle of the room. Jake came in after Jimmy. "This will be easy, boy, there is a glass panel between the rooms, but they are too drunk to notice; we will not open it. First you will keep your mouth shut, and play Hal's theme song on the phonograph; then I will ask you to sing in your new style; then, if they want you to, play them another phonograph record to show you can still sing in your old style." "This is a lot of trouble to go to to get killed," Jimmy said. "Do not think of that, boy, do not think of it. Go on, now." Jake lumbered back to the other room. Jimmy was alone, alone with the microphone. The light on the wall was out; he could hear Jake's voice coming through the loud speaker, building McCabe up. Then the voices stopped and the light on the wall went on; Jimmy put Old Black Joe on the phonograph, and let it play. "I'm comin', I'm comin — " There was nothing for him to do for three minutes. He looked around. There was a door to the hall, but it would be locked; no, there was a key in it. HIS heart pumped unbearably as he went across the room. The phonograph kept on playing: they would think they heard him, no one would miss him. He could take his chances in the lobby. He twisted the key in the lock, and slowly opened the door. He stepped into the corridor and took two paces towards the elevators. A door across the hall opened, and a man came through it. He did not say anything; he just looked at Jimmy; it was Utsy, Maxey's gunman, Jimmy's guard. He continued to stand there, saying nothing; after a moment, Jimmy went back into the room where the phonograph was playing, and closed the door. He was just in time to switch the phonograph off; the light went out and he could hear Maxey's voice. "How you like the boy, gents? Is he a buy, or is he a sell? Huh?" "All right," Wallace said. "Let's hear some more." "We're going to give you a surprise," Jake said. "Hal has been working on a new style, more youthful, more what I might call zip, and I wouldn't be wrong. Let's have it, Hal." Jimmy pulled the switch, and said, "All right. Here it goes, folks." McLane said: "Can't we see him while he sings?" Jake said: "Sure, sure. We just want you to get the effect it will have on your customers over the radio." The glass panel was slid back, and their faces appeared, close to it. The cigar smoke in the other room was like murky water; and the three pairs of eyes — Maxey was not looking — were like those of fish in an aquarium. The light was turned on as Jake pulled the switch. Jimmy put an orchestra record on the phonograph; and, as the orchestra finished the introduction, started singing. This time he really sang, in his own voice, which was not unlike McCabe's. He finished. The light went off, and the babble of voices came through to him. He was a success, it seemed, he was something fancy; he was the finest singer in the world. Well, a lot of that was liquor, but they were more enthusiastic than they had been about the record of McCabe's own voice; 64