Life — February 1, 1929 — page 9: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

: Andre’s Ambition; “Love? Sure. I know! And what else Blonde little Lucy La- roche’s blue eyes were wide with questioning. “Any girl satisfied today with just love is just nerts. Who's gon’a give me them little extra touches that makes a home a home? You? You haven't kept a job three weeks in three years.” A horrid shrick came suddenly. Andre Galoop faced her angrily. “Sweetheart, that’s unfair! You know why. I will not be a slave to work I do not love. Some day you will know the career I seek, but I cannot seem”—— “Yeah, I know. You can’t seem to re- member its name. Listen! I don’t want any slave. All I want is a strong white man not too proud to soil his hands with a large salary. Why, Andre, you're cuckoo, the jobs you've jacked! That big electric light company you was President of"—— “An octopus—soulless!”” “And the time you was President of the A. T. & T.” Galoop covered his face. “They even put wrong numbers on my salary check.” “Then tell me this mysterious ambition, Andre! Why is it always a secret? Even if it's a crime, tell me! Oh, Andre”— Lucy began sobbing. “There, there, caro mio!” Galoop patted the shaking little shoulders. “You have the love of a man with a purpose, Lucy. or Hell in the Congressional Library By Raymond S. Tompkins I cannot tell you yet my life’s goal. But for your sake I shall reach it.” “In the meantime,” Lucy sniffled, “Sam Liederkranz, the big paper jobber, is after me.’ Lucy buried her face deeper... Far down the hall a door slammed Il. In the vast reading room of the U. S. Congressional Library, furtive students eyed the attendants queerly. One makes no sound there. Lofty marble caverns echo to a thoughtless snuffle. “Silence” in golden letters is painted on the panels. A horrid shrick came suddenly. The reading room awoke. People swarmed toward a pop-cyed school teacher shooting scream after scream aloft, like clay pigeons springing. She chattered _ in- sanely—— “The wrong book—every time—I’m going mad”. Forty years of drilling by the U. S. Congressional Library Bookshelf Guards now bore fruit. The Chief whispered in code to a smart young attendant who sprang away and was back in a trice. “Yes, sir; it’s true!” The Chief thundered, “Lock every door!” Never, in history, had anything like | this happened. In an hour the world was | reading of the incredible rape of the great- est library card index system in existence. Swift examination had revealed chaos— numbers altered, cards jumbled. A reader would send for Volume 28, New Yorker Staats-Zeitung, and the clerk would bring the Detroit City Directory. In another hour the world had the equally incredible confession of. — our friend, Andre Galoop! Ill. “Will you seem to be signing the con- tract, Mr. Galoop?” , “Will you pose holding this book, Mr. Galoop?” Later, when the camera boys had gone, Andre Galoop, now world-famous, told the reporters the story. “T have held many posts, boys, and hated them all. I was @ newspaper man once, of course; a utility President, head of General Motors, di- rector of a National drug store chain, But how to break into the game I wanted? Jealousy of a rival in love spurred me. At last, in front of the Congressional Library, an impulse, strong since boyhood, overwhelmed me. You know how index cards are strung on steel rods in the file drawers? I had always yearned to snip them loose with scissors and then jumble them. I entered and went to work. You know the rest. Thanks to the publicity my career now begins. Six firms are bidding for me. I am just the man they want.” “And, your work?” asked the World reporter. “Mail-Order Manager of a big depart- ment store!” replied Andre proudly, Iv. Today, at selecting and mailing dry- goods to out-of-town catalogue shoppers, A. Galoop has a spotless record of wrong sizes, wrong quantities and wrong ar- ticles. He stands at the head of his pro- fession and is still going up. And the lovely Lucy Laroche? EP He stands at the head of his profession. Again, success for “A. G.” She married the paper jobber, Liederkranz, and only |last week Andre had the pleasure of mail- ing her two seersucker suits, size forty- eight, to fill her order for three pairs of two-year-old-size flannel pajamas. Tue Eno, comicbooks.com