Life — February 8, 1929 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

Life Better look at your wateh-ehain CERTAINLY other people notice it — perhaps it needs your scrutiny! In just what condi- tion is that watch-chain of yours? Smart, right up to the clothes you’re wearing . . . or is it battered and old, with worn, tired-out links... years too late in style? Isn't it time for a new chain —a Simmons Chain? A new Simmons Chain is good-look- ing and stays that way; dura- ble — able to stand years of hard wear. More, the cost is quite reasonable. Ask your jeweler to show you his assort- ment of Simmons Chains — there are any number of recent, authoritative designs, - » « Perhaps the one above, No. 30718 at $8 in yellow-gold- filled. In white or green or a combination of both at $9. R. F. Simmons Co., Attleboro, Massachusetts. ° SIMMONS TRADE MARK CHAINS a EXTRA! Qincy Qilq Achieves His Million Dollar Goal! Off to Rangoon on Scientific Expedition By Qincy Qilq (Aboard the S. S. Butterick. By special radiogram to the editor.) The Amer- ican public is a brick! My million dollar chest drive reached its climax yesterday morning when the final public - spirited contributor sent in his donation. And now for my part of the bargain! Here I am aboard the S. S. Butterick bound for Rangoon, taking along with me three pieces of scientific paraphanalia—a swivel <nair, a bass-horn player named Lunk, and a free lance piccolo artist called Weeney. Ever since I was three, I have pondered about the ears of the Rangoonese. One night as I tossed in my crib, my father ‘One Million Dollars! 900,000 00 -800,000.00 =700,000.00 —©0Q,00099 $00,000.00 “$09,000.00, —300,000.00 200,000.00 100,009.00 $7,000.40 | was holding a meeting of his Bowling Club in the parlor. They were talking about their new pin boy, a young Ran- goon. “Funny thing about that fellow,” I heard dad say. “I can't understand why we hit him so often.” “T guess his ears must be funny,” said another. “He doesn’t scem to hear us yell at him at all.” That’s all that was said, but it gave me the idea that Rangoons might have “spe- cialized cars.” By this I mean that the Rangoon’s left ear heard nothing but high notes, while his right car heard nothing but bass. I concocted this theory alone in my crib, and when T get to Rangoon I will prove it. One after another we will get the Rangoons to sit in the swivel chair (see diagram) with Lunk and his bass horn stationed to the left, and the piccolo virtuoso, Weeney, flanking the right. At a signal from my baton, the boys will strike up. If Rangoons really have “spe- cialized ears,” the man in the chair will hear nothing. However, swivel the chair jaround so that the music pours into his proper funnels, and the Rangoon will en- joy the concert to the utmost. Although travelling first cabin and en- joying the best of comfort in some ways, in others we are suffering the usual hard lot of explorers. The worst trial so far is that we have run out of writing paper. So I have to write my reports on thin slices of white bread. The bread is stale, and when I get excited and typewrite (Continued on page 32) SMACK: Under the Canoe He Went! You Ul Enjoy The Fisherman's Thrill When You Read His Story ToucH BREAK! The tip of my A bait-casting rod bent suddenly downward, and under the cance went the bronze-backed smallmouth bass. The only five pounder that had ever smashed at one of my plugs. I'd managed to cast into a bunch of lily pads near shore, and had retrieved the plug almost to the canoe, when « « » SPLASH! He had followed the plug clear in—struck when I had be. gun thinking of the next cast! Oh! they do it! And it’s always a heavy fish, too! I got a long breath-taking view of the five-pounder, dancing across the surface on his tail. Maybe he hadn’t caught me napping! So much so, that I inadvertently gave slack, anda nasty loop double-hitched itself around the recl-handle. There wasI . . . a five pound bass, and ten feet of line to play him; a short bait. casting rod, in a canoe! What a Rod! Two lightning rushes; smack— smack of that big tail; a lunge; and he was under the canoe. I didn’t dare lean farther over the side. You hate to take a spill in twenty feet of cold water, especially when you're dressed for chill winds and weather, and your boots are heavy! But I didn’t wantto lose that smallmouth. So I held the rod as far out from the canoe as I dared—and just let that bass work himself into a frenzy on ten feet of line. The rod bent almost in a com- plete circle. Scarcely two feet separ- ated the tip and the butt. And all the time he was tearing things up. I could feel every slap of his tail until finally he sailed straight ahead, to break water just ahead of the bow of the canoe. Out and up! Another dance on the water! At last the guide netted him. “Lemme see that rod a minute,” said the guide. I passed it to him. and he inspected it. “Must be good stuff in that rod. “It’s a Montague®,” I said. * Montague—a name that has been knows to thousands of great fishermen for years. I= addition, countless thousands of other fshe- men have used Montague Rods without know ing that they originally came from Rod Hesd- warters in Montague City, Mass. They # featured by the best sport foods dealers every where—better rods cannot be had at any pn ~ ~~ comicbooks.com