Judge — June 12, 1886 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE. now alsocordial, again greeted me. ‘+ Ah,” said he, ‘‘you have come at last. Let me seo, the number of your manuscript is 22,- 793. “Twenty-two thous- and, seven hundred and ninety-three!” I repeated in horror; “when do you think I will get the boodle?” “Well,” said the long-haired gentleman blandly, “you might give another call in about five years and then we shall—shall— see about the matter.” Sadly I departed, and when six years later I appeared at the pub- lishing house I en- quired as usual for the long-haired gentle- man, A strange young man came forward. “Why, my dear sir,” he said, “Mr.| Jinkins is dead. He was murdered here in you a s'’prise paht Parson Hotppaci “bout fohty yeahs, frum de las" ¢ ile. DEACON SKULLER—‘* Good mawain, parson; I'se been ‘pinted a cem- mittee for to fin’ out when ‘twould be ‘venient fer de bredren en sisters ter | NOT TO BE CAUGHT AGAIN. “Bout fohty yeahs frum no’, brudder Sculler, It well tek ’bout dat time fer me ter revamp this office, two summers ago, by Cactus Billy, the Bard of Dakota. Billy came down here with some verses de society and wanted spot cash, Poor Jinkins said it was against the You can guess the rest—argument— pl—fire department—blood—massacre!” When I had sufficiently recovered from the shock of this intelligence I ventured to inquire about my own article. “It is now No. 9,357," said the young man soothingly, ‘‘and I have no doubt but that it will be published some time during the next four years.” bi Time rolled on. I went into the soft-soap business, made some money, married a charm- ing girl, and now I amagrandfather. And only the day before yesterday I went down to that self same publishing house to find out how I stood. That young man—Jinkins’s suc- cessor — has hair as whiteasmy own. He tells me that my manuscript is now No. 5,442. alias $10? I pause e the strains of angelic music, the | voice of my favorite golden-haired daughter is wafted down the dumb-waiter to me from the parlor above. She is singing some old- | time melody (a delightful change from the } Mikado), and as the harmonious chords grow ter and fainter I catch a lingering couplet which beats on my heart like a wave from the dark ocean of futurity, “ Perhaps T shall know thee and greet thee again, When the sea gives up its dead.” MR. LAMAR'S COMING MARRIAGE. (Deepateh oa A woman with a pair of shears applied to rning paper.) Secretary Lamar for a lock of his hair. ‘* Do you know,” said the secretary, who is naturally | suspicious, vhat Samson said to Delilah on lar occasion?” and the woman said she “Well,” said the secretary, blandly, So this evening, seat- ed in my cosy base-| ment, I think over the] fate of the little story | I launched on the sea of literature when life was very young to me. Ab, precious man- uscript— ambitious lit- tle manuscript — man- uscript No. 5,442! when shall I see you in print?’ When shall L reap the reward of my | THE SOLOIST—A TALE OF A BROKEN STRING. “he said, ‘Get thee behind me, Satan! was a Washington woman, and she was s» op. pressed by the scriptural information of the secretary that she turned away sorrowing and said never a word."* But P'llcatch him asleep she whispered to herself, ominously { ishing the shears. And yet it is reported ly contemporary that old Mr. Lamar is in no danger from either a theological or a matri- monial point of view. JUNE. The spirit of the south wind calls To tell us June is here ; His voice in whispered music falls Upon our willing ear. A promise fair of fruit and flowers He bears upon his wings ; And golden, sunny summer hours His coming to us brings. And as each bud he stops to kiss The iceman goes his rounds, And leaves a bit of ice like this [] And charges for ten pounds. FRED Il, CURTISS, ur IT STOOD TO REASON. Gussie (sly hat are you going to Mr. Merritt for his birthday?” Cora (confidentially) — “ Well, I've been thinking that as he smokes a great deal noth ing could please him better than a cigar-case. Don't you think sot” LittLe Jouyyxy (speaking up)—‘* Say, sis, I know something that would please him much more.” bi . Cora (stroking his hair)—‘ And what is it he would like better than a cigar-case, Johnny? Littte Jounny (looking funny)—‘Why, a case of cigars, of course.” PAT'S CORNUCOPIA. BENEVOLENT OLD GENTLEMAN (setting them up)—-“‘My poor man, you secm to enjoy the good things of this world.” Tramp (pouring out eight fingers)—" Yis, sorr ; Oi belave in the hor-rn of plinty.” KNOCKING HIM OFF HIS LEGS. Dr. Quack (vainly)—“I have just made a marvelous discovery that will revolutic the whole world. After years of patient cx- perimenting, I've concocted an invaluable specific for hydropbobia. I am laboring solely for the benefit of mankind, and as I believe that prevention is better "—— Mrs. PuGWasi (breaking in)—‘‘ Well, if you believe that pre- vention is better than cure, you had better go and throw your physic to the dogs.” Reciprocity— Seizing Can: e comicbooks.com