"IF YOU DON'T COME OUT, I'M COMING RIGHT IN TO GET YOU." MYRTL Myrtle on the Sexes YRTLE says that sometimes she thinks if she hadn't been born a woman she'd like to have been a man. They can do so many more things, if you get what she means. And she thinks men's loyalty to each other is just splendid. Of course, sometimes they carry that sort of thing too far. Look at Carrie Thatcher's husband.... Really, though, there are advantages in being a woman. They call women the mysterious sex. Well, it's funny, but honestly, there are times when Myrtle feels just as mysterious as-well, as anything. If you see what she's driving at. There are times when she's almost certain she's a reincarnation of Cleopatra. Why, she was looking at some drawings of ancient Egypt one night, and everything seemed to come back so, if you get what she means. Myrtle knows that she has what they call "appeal." Well, she can't help it. Why, one night when Andy Freeman was taking her home from a dance, he looked right into her eyes in the thrillingest way and said: "God, little girl!" just like that, and then clapped his hand over his forehead and absolutely stalked off. Well, Myrtle can't help it if she affects them that way. She likes them to like her. Most all men are gentlemen at heart....Except, of course, when they've been drinking. And when she gets married she's going to insist that her husband spend one evening in the week with the "boys." It will be perfectly all right with her. She isn't jealous. Because, Heaven knows, if she felt her husband didn't want her, she'd be the first person in the world to let him go. Myrtle has lots of pride. Maybe it's silly, but she has. Anyway, marriage is just a business arrangement, don't you think? Or do you? And besides, thank God, Myrtle hasn't any foolish ideas in her head about men....Like some persons she could mention.... Tip Bliss. Easy for Her "DOES your wife economize?" "Yes; she does without practically everything I need!" · LIFE · The Sunday Auto Ride By H. I. Phillips HE household of Amos Q. Pipp was, for want of a better hori T zontal word in four letters, agog. Mrs. Emma Pipp, her face as red from exertion as a cluster of picturehouse exit bulbs, was filling a thermos bottle with hot coffee and incidentally scalding "Rajah," the Pipp puppy. Prunella Pipp, the twelve-year-old daughter, was lathering rye bread with pimento cheese and wrapping the result in oil-paper. Patricia Pipp, nine, was packing hard-boiled eggs and bananas into a shoebox already congested with sardine tins, pickle bottles and a jelly roll. Prentice Pipp, five, was running around in circles carrying a gorgeous tin pail and shovel and registering a keen desire to be on the wing. Pa Pipp, radiant but rattled, was dividing his time between issuing general directions to the whole Pipp family and darting to the front window to see if the new Pipp flivver was still at the curb where he had left it in all its vernal elegance. Pa Pipp was beset by a nervous dread that somebody would back into that car, scratch a match on its glossy surface, or swoop down and carry it off the moment his back was turned. It was Sunday Morning. To the Pipps it was the Sunday Morning that would bring emancipation from cramped apartments, crowded subway trains, congested city sidewalks and teeming parks. For the Pipps had their first automobile. Pa Pipp had just tooled the bus from the garage and was anxious to get the family aboard and be on the way to the beach. "You're a great big dear for buying it," exclaimed Mrs. Pipp, with a smile of gratitude, as she closed a shoebox full of delicatessen products. "Now we can really enjoy our Sundays." "It took a lotta income-tax cheatin' an' one thing 'nd another, but I figured you was entitled to it," answered Amos, drawing himself to his full five feet four. "Every man owes it to his family to own a car these days!" "You darling!" exclaimed Mrs. Pipp. "It's health insurance!" went Amos. "It means taking the wife and kiddies from the stuffy, cramped confines of the city out through the flowered countryside to the breeze-swept, sun-kissed mountains and beaches!" "Ain't it so?" cried Mrs. Pipp. on "It means rest, contentment, recreation, peace of mind, health and happiness," continued Amos with fitting gesticulations. "It means a happy transition from the congestion of the city to the freedom of God's own open country, out where the fragrance of the fields and streams-the odor of the balsams and the tang of the salt sea air smite the nostrils." "You read that in the folder!" accused Mrs. Pipp. "What of it?" demanded Amos. "It's the truth, ain't it?" "Take this box, Prunella," commanded the mother, "and be careful to carry it right side up. There's a custard pie in it. Patricia, you carry the hamper! Amos, take the big basket! THE POLICEMAN MOTIONED AMOS TO STOP. Everything's ready, I think. Goodness me! Phew!" "Snap into your hat and coat, Ma!" ordered Mr. Pipp as he led the way out of the Pipp apartment, whistling a gypsy song. "How about the dog?" called Mrs. Pipp. "He wants to go, don't you, pupsy-upsy? Ess, him does." "Bring him along, but don't let him put his paws on the varnish!" called back Pipp. As Amos reached the streets, some seconds ahead of the family, he emitted a shrill note of alarm at the discovery of two boys playing baseball close to the new flivver. He inspected the car minutely for any indication that it had been hit by a passing ball. His heart beat very rapidly at the thought of such a calamity. "Hurry up!" he cried to Mrs. Pipp and the Pipp progeny. "Let's get aboard before anything happens." The family piled aboard joyously, if nervously. Mrs. Pipp looked up at the windows to see if any neighbors were "BAH!" ROARED THE STRANGER. shooting jealous looks from behind the shades. Mr. Pipp took the wheel and stepped on the starter. "We're off!" he shouted. "Off for the Great Open Spaces!" "Off to the Great Open Spaces," repeated Mrs. Pipp. "Popper, how far is it to the beach?" piped Patricia Pipp. "About twenty miles," replied Amos. "How long will it take us to get there, Popper?" asked Prentice, the youngest Pippian. "Oh," replied Mr. Pipp with the utmost nonchalance, "we oughter do it in about fifty minutes!" Mr. Pipp looked at his watch. Confidently he tooled his car off the side street through darting taxis and on to the main thoroughfare. He grew a little nervous when, within the first ten blocks, his right front fender was twice grazed by other Sunday tourists cutting in ahead of him. Mrs. Pipp was somewhat perturbed, too, by the number of cars going in the same direction. "It's like a parade, ain't it?" she exclaimed. "People getting home from church, I guess," said Amos. "Look out!" yelled Mrs. Pipp abruptly. Her shout brought the car to such a sudden stop that the Pipp baby was jostled from his seat into the box containing the custard pie. "What's the matter?" demanded Mr. Pipp. "You made me stall the engine! Don't yell at a man when he's driving." "That big truck ahead was stopping," explained Mrs. Pipp. HE BARELY AVOIDED CRASHING INTO THEM. "I saw it," snapped Mr. Pipp, very red, as the cars ahead moved on and a fanfare of horns assailed him from behind. Before he got his car started again a dozen cars turned out and whizzed by, the owners flinging back comment of a nature much too hot for Mr. Pipp to handle. The car suddenly lurched forward and was on its way again. Mr. Pipp was perspiring dreadfully. Mrs. Pipp looked unhappy. The traffic signal was against them at the next crossing. "We turn here," said Amos, as he awaited the "Go" signal. After what seemed an hour the policeman blew his whistle. The twenty or more cars lined up started forward with explosive sputterings. Mr. Pipp started to turn to the right. There was a grinding of brakes behind him. Somebody shouted: "Whatcha doin' there, stupid?" "Why don't you hold out your hand?" bawled another. The policeman motioned to Amos to stop. Amos did so. He looked very rattled. After all the cars had passed on down the avenue the officer beckoned for him to turn. "Give a sign there, feller, before you make any turns!" said the policeman gruffly as Amos wheeled by. "I'm no mind reader." "The thick mug!" said Mr. Pipp, softly, when he had covered a safe distance. A whistle blew sharply. "He heard you say that!" cried Mrs. Pipp, looking back. Amos turned the color of faded enamel and put on his brakes prepared for the worst. "No," said Mrs. Pipp. "It's all right. He's stopping traffic again. Go ahead, dearie." Amos sighed heavily and stepped on the gas. He was beginning to look very ragged. "I suppose it's always bad getting out of the city," he said weakly. "Soon's we get across town and hit the turnpike it'll be easy." Within sight of the turnpike, Mr. Pipp found himself blocked. He peered out over the side of the car. There was a solid mass of machines ahead of him, waiting for the signal to turn into the turnpike. "Popper, why don't we move?" chirped the Pipp infant, after about fifteen minutes. "Don't ask fool questions," barked Mr. Pipp. "What time is it, Amos?" asked Mrs. Pipp. Mr. Pipp looked at his watch. The car in front crawled ahead a |