Mr. Sullivan's Stenographer

FRANK SULLIVAN is a bright young man who first came to the notice of readers of the New York World by filling in for Heywood Broun while the latter was vacationing. Broun's "It Seems to Me" column became for the nonce "It Seems to Me Too", and even the most devout Brounonians grudgingly admitted that this fellow Sullivan wasn't so bad. But Broun returned in due course and his bright young substitute retired to a less conspicuous page of the World, where he continued to offer his humorous wares to those who cared to seek him out. And in increasing numbers readers of the World did begin to seek him out and his fame has now so expanded that the appearance of his first book is a matter of some considerable moment in the field of humorous literature.

"The Life and Times of Martha Hepplethwaite" is the pretentious title Mr. Sullivan has chosen for his volume, this being the first, and probably the best, of the thirty-odd selections that he offers. And Martha is an extraordinary girl. She is Mr. Sullivan's stenographer, with a penchant for turning somersaults and handsprings in the office, taking dictation while dangling by one leg from a chandelier, and using her employer's purple suspenders for exercisers, with inkwells tied to the ends for weighs. You can imagine what a hard time poor Mr. Sullivan has with her. But if you can't, he tells you. As, for example, getting her to take dictation, which he sets forth thus: "Miss Hepplethwaite, take a letter...Why not?..Don't I pay you to take letters, or did you think I had you around here just for the sheer joy of living? ..Go ahead, be a, sport and take the letter, Martha..Well, why not?..You are the beatin'est..

"Well, I've got to have a letter taken by somebody. . . It's been days and days since I've given you a letter and you've taken it, and when you come to think of it, after all, life just resolves itself into a question of give and take, doesn't it? . .

"Will you take the letter. Martha? . . Stop drumming on the table . . You're not in the mood to take a letter? . . Who told you you could go in for moods? . . Lay off moods, Hepplethwaite; leave them for your betters . .

"Martha, I'll tell you what . . If you'll take the letter, I'll let you ride around the block on my tricycle. . . I'll let you ride around twice. . . Think of that! . . You can ride around trice on my twicycle . . I mean twice on my tricycle. . Well, then, I'll let you come to my circus next Saturday free, and its going to be ten pins for everybody else. . . I'll give you half this piece of chewing gum. . . And two of these keys and this, whistle and I'll let you whittle with my knife some day. . . No, you can't have any of my cigarette pictures. . ."

Mr. Sullivan's offerings discuss everything from pants buttons to prohibition. He writes Nat Luxenberg and Bros, deeply offended because they failed to invite him to their sale. He contributes a scholarly monograph on the mashing situation in New York. He writes thrillingly of "The Unique Hold-Up of a Taximan's Pants." And never for a moment is he serious, even inadvertently. He sometimes fails also to be funny, but not for lack of trying. It is that straining for effect that is Mr. Sullivan's chief fault. We are led to feel that the author is trying very, very hard to make us laugh; and we are inclined to be annoyed that he should deem such excessive efforts necessary