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Page 2 · column 3 of 7 · from the scan, no model involved
Bemoan not your lot. You may think you have troubles, but one of the country’s most unhappy men was a visitor in the News office Tuesday afternoon. He was among the Unfortunates chosen to act as judge in the door-decoration contest at the county seat. He knew that he could name some dozen-or-so other things he would rather be doing instead of riding around in tlfe cold looking 'at decorated doors. He realized it was an honor to have been selected as one of the judges. He was well aware of the fast that, not having been an avid reader of House Beautiful magazines of the like, he was hardly informed up to the minute on what is considered the “best” in doorway accoutrements. But all this was not the reason for his doleful and apprehensive mug —his face was that of his Cocker Spaniel in cheerfulness. “It’s those that don’t win the prize,” he , moaned. “I can’t hope to pick the one that people think should win. I’ll just have to pick the one I like the looks of, and you know what will be said. ‘Why in the world did that one win? Mrs. Soand so’s was much prettier!”
Sir, you have my deepest sympathies. I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I hope all your troubles are little ones. I’ll baby-sit for you. I’ll wash dishes and scrub floors. I’ll carry out the ashes, wind the cat and put out the clock, but, Mister, you can have your job of judging the door decorations! The ladied Axed those doors up, each according to her tastes, and each one knows that she should have the first prize. Oh, no, sir. You may have your job; I’ve got troubles enough as it is.
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