New Britain herald., 1930-04-18

New York, April IS - Thoughts while strolling: The early morning rush across 42d street. Stenograph CTS, clerks and white haired mes- senger boys" Never saw a colle giate looking like John Held draw ing Those on- on-the fly drugstore breakfasts Hurry, hurry, hurry.
 B. c. Forbes, 8 New Deer, Scot land boy, who made good in the city. Wonder if anyone reads signs on elevated steps. Red sausage herald ed as pure pork" But you can't fool a clod- hopper. Pure stuff IS gray. The famous ffnancier who stops dead in his tracks at intervals and makes funny noises with his throat.
 Tads in aviator costumes. Super | latively sedate ladies you feel cer- | tain are from Boston. The set, anX- ious face of a producer with show in rehearsal. A window of fans. All New York stops to watch someone jack up car. Tony DreXel's collars are as DlS dS LOulS -htllll
 | Tall. narrow houses in old Mur- ray Hill f1ossed up in taffeta and chintz for tea rooms. Southern cook ing, corn upones, hominy-probably cooked by Chinese. Thin old men with parchment skin knifelike trou- sers, creases and black puff cravats. Wonder if there is an Elizabeth Arden?
 The boil of the 34th street shop ping area. The dance of life. Simians in a cage. Goldfish in a bowl Rein- aid Werrenrath swings out of a taxi. Travel movies get the big play. The red dynamite wagon. Robert Gar land, the critic. Meretriceous ladies with water smiles.
 Herald Square. Six restaurants in a block. Open collins in undertak- CTS display windows. Fur shops with perpetual sales Physical culture studios. Race tipping bureaus. Shoes repaired while -you-wat. Salt water taffy. Frederick J. Haskin, another syndicate writer from Missouri
 Nearly always a first class play at the Maxine Elliott. A policeman bawls out a harried taxi driver for making a wrong turn - and disap- pears in a cellar speak-easy. What became of rain spouts? Women who stop before window mirrors to preen. Like naughty pre- occupied cats.
 They were discussing the laziest black boy in Harlem. He stands on the opposite side of the street from an industrious curb peddler of hot crawfish. The industrious salesman. a volcano of activity, sings out: Here you are! Get your hot craw- fish. Cooked in bay leaves. Sp1ced with chives. Stuffed with red pep per. Salt and peppered. Good and hot. A feast for a king. Here you are-hot crawfish"
 When he has finished the lazy rascal, who also sells hot crawitsh, will drawl in tired voice: Same on this side."
 | Despite furious competition, or ange juice remains the favorite non alcoholic tipple on Broadway. Con- centrated juices of pineapple, apple, peach and other fruits have tried to wrest the lead but failed. More than 400 new orange juice stands will open between 72d and 23d streets this summer and price cut ting war is promised.
 1 At burlesque show the other night a soubrette romped down into the aisle and implanted a juicy | smack on the shiny pate of a bald head in the front row. She left a smear of red lips upon which The spotlight was turned. The gentle man hunted up the house manager, swung from the ankle and blacked both his eyes, goody, goody.
 New York will do anything to re- lieve congestion if the following