Judge — January 28, 1882 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE JUDGE. } tt FOOLING HIS SISTFI BEAU. Masten Puiiir—(unitating his sister's voice).—Oh, good morning, Mr. Mole, Lava real glad to se you Excuse my rising, I don't feel quite well today. within a foot of tt. terribly short-sighted, adcances to shake hands, and is disgusted to sind that he only comes THE BARD OF AVON IN DISGUISE. BY “BREVIER” He had evidently seen better days—a good many years ago; so long since that he had probably forgotten all about it. He wore a No, 14 boot on one foot, and a dilapidated shoe of no particu ‘on the other. His coat, like Joseph's, was of many colors —and patches—and the bald and shapelc relics of what had once been a fur cap rested jauntily on the apex of his Corinthian brow. He drifted casually into a Bowery saloon, swung up alongside of the bar and anchored. Gazing athwart the promiscuous expanse of free lunch which overspread the counter, his sinuous right eye fastened itself on the Brazil- ian diamond that blazed like an electric light on the proprietor's shirt front, while his left optic took a hasty inventory of the decanters arrayed in regular order on the shelves. There ensued a moment of silence. Then the man who had seen better days drew himself up to his full height and exclaimed: “What, oh! Gambrinus, sling forth a royal Thomas and Jeremiah, and be mighty expeditions about it too! I'm as dry as a Herkimer county potato-patch after a six- weeks’ drought!” ‘The saloon-keeper gazed at his visitor a moment in speechless astonishment, and as soon as he regained his. selfpossession—and his voice—he shonted: ! look her think you are add izeor shape ing in this high-lown | old chap; who do you | stand my demand. style, and what in thunder do you want any: way? Don't quote Latin and sling three-cornered Greek words around here, It don’t pay.” “Oh, ab, yes; I see you don’t exactly under- What I want is a Thomas and Jeremiah—familiarly known as Tom and Jerry.” “Now you're just beginning to talk sen: exclaimed the saloonist. “* You want a ‘Tom and Jerry, eh?” “That is what I said.” “ Allright, old coon, we'll try to wants, depositefi tisfy your But hadn't you better make a small about ten cents, to cover the You look too much cost of the raw material ? like a retired bank cashier to obtain credit at this establishment; and besides we don’t keep a slate. Come, pony up, or waltz out—no time for fooling!” “See here!” yelled the dilay ted stran- | ger, indignantly, “who are you calling old coon? yes, sir, a poet!” “Poet, eh? What might your name be?” “Tt might be most anything—John Smith, for instance—but it ist There is no need of longer dissembling. I am the Bard of Avon “The Bard of Avon?” “Yes; never heard of me—the myriad- minded dramatist ?” “Eh?” “ Great Casa Don't you recognize great- ness when you sec it? I'm the immortal poet, the incomparable interpreter of Nature, the divine William !" “The divine William?” ‘Yes, William J. Shakespeare, Esq.” Talk it out in plain English, can’t you? | T want you to understand Iam a poet; | “Why didn’t you say so in the first place ? So you're Mr. Shake ur" “T suppose I am,” unblushingly confessed the ancient Ananias. “You're the chap that wrote ‘ Hamlet,’ ‘A Midsummer Nightshirt,’ ‘Taming of the Old Woman,’ and all the rest of the solid dramatic literatoor, eh “The very same.” “Well, by George! I'm in luck for once. I'm mighty glad you called, Mr. Shakespeare, I want to ask your opinion on a volume of poetry composed by myself, Just step in the back room, please, and I'll show it to you. The man who had seen better days assented with a smile, and walked unsuspectingly into it. | the rear apartm The saloon-keeper followed, and cautiously locked the door after him, then fishing a club out from behind a pile of barrels in the corner, } he chuckled: “So you're old Shakespeare, ch?” “Yes, of course,” stammered the tramp, beginning to grow pale and a tritle nervous— ‘of course; but where's that poctry? I don’t see it.” | ** You'll see more of it than you want to in about five seconds! The air will be full of poetry and music when I get this club in good swinging order.” “You don't mean to kill me in cold blood, do you?” queried the high-lown impostor as he backed up in the corner, and looked anx- iously around for some avenue of escape. “That is just what4 mean to do! You've guessed it the first time. You see, I've got four professional pedestrians, half a dozen freelunch fiends, nine organ-grinders, and a couple of book agents buried in the back | yard, and I need a poet to make the collection complete. Take yourlast look at the world. Your time has come.” And with these words, | the saloonist whirled his club aloft and swoop- | ed down on the unfortunate tramp like ac train with all brakes off on a down grade. But old Shakespeare was equal to the emer- gency. Just before the club reached him he dodged and made a rapid flank movement across the | room, falling over three different barrels on the | way, barking his shins, and bruising himself | generally in his frantic efforts to escape. Reaching the window, he plunged through, followed by the club, and in less than fifteen seconds he had regained his feet, run across the yard, clambered over a twelve-foot fence, and disappeared like a tendlollar bill at a church fair. It will doubtless be some time before Mr. Shakespeare visits this locali i he gets a clean shirt, ai y disguis throughout, so that no one will recognize him. | Ir all flesh is grass, what is John Hay? Men. for the inventor of the new torpedo boat: Youn ke a craft to water, but you cannot make it swim. Goon news for honest men: A number of ew Jersey bank officials are beginning to fall out among themselves, comicbooks.com