Aha, now that I've got my eye out for Cleon Throckmorton's bizarre advertisements, I'm finding more hidden gems. This one's from the June 7, 1930 issue of The New Yorker, tucked in the bottom-left corner of page 94.
Is this a joke? Was Throckmorton just incredibly strange, either with his finger on the pulse of underground '30s humour or so far in his own world that nothing made sense?
I don't know. I can only assume he's advertising to be hired as an interior decorator, a sideline to his scenic designer business. But at least we can be assured that he was a Really Serious Person.