Judge — August 18, 1888 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

A DECREPIT LIE. LBOW GRAVES was elected treasurer of the Black Star tennis association last week, and after collecting a small percentage of the initiation and monthly dues was sent over to the city to buy uniforms, accoutrements and implements of the Not returning in a reasonable time, the auditing committee sent out feelers in the shape of Mr. Peleg Eakins and Mr. Esmond Le Clair to possibly help him bring home the goods, and in any event to frustrate a de- faleation, “Whar’s yo’ gwine t’ look fer 'm?" asked Mr. Le Clair as they stepped off the Hoboken Hoboke coon wiv nineteen dollah en a sheet uv two- caint stamps, moh den he eber hed in he's life U' wunst befoh, is a gwine ter be foun’ readin’ scripter in d’ Ashter lib'ry? Nossir! dat he yain't. I'se_gwine up t’ Portagee Mike's caffy, en ‘f we don’ find ‘m dar, instinc’ tell me dat he'll be down on Cabe’s watah-million dock eatin’ hisself sicker den a king-fish wiv d’ proceed ob d’ k'lection,” And at Cabe’s, sure enough, they found him. Mr. Eakins seized him by one arm and Mr. Le Clair by the other, and as they pulled him apart till his shoulder-fastenings loosened hot- shot queries were poured into him like the discharge of a Gatling gun, “ Whadjer do wiv dem tennis scads, yo" brack Fulgraft?” “ Whad I do?” bade Whadjer do ?” “ Whad who do wiv whad scads?” “Jerk ‘m agin, Mistah Eakins. Whadjer do ‘t say?” “Ef yo" gemmen ‘Il ‘low me ter sput out. some million-seeds whad's god ketched undah mah collar-bon’ I'll tell yo" whad ‘r done. ‘lastic man fer t' be pulled out like dis!” They eased up on him a little, and as he sucked back the air which bad been squeezed out of him he said, “Tdone kim ober t' N’ Yark fer ter puchis d’ ‘signia ob d’ club.” “Dat yo" did, yo" mol: col'd -Jachne; dat you did! Whar's d’ ‘signia? I done struck two place whar dey sol’ unniforms.” “Go om! “De fust place dey wanted jes’ twainty-one dollah fer foh re- galias wiv d’ net, rackers, clubs en bawls frowed in.’ “ Umph!" “De secon’ place wuz ind’ ‘cinity ob Hunion squar’ en d’ price wuz higher. Dey wanted jes’ twainty-one dollah fer one suit ob cloze, en ‘siderin’ d’ tone ob d’ club, an’ d’ fac’ dat dem cloze wuz solid silk, I says, says I t’ m'self, dem’s d° togs fer d’ Brack Stars, suah,”. yo’ buyed ‘m?” “En ‘r did.” “ Whar is dey ?"* “Das jes’ whad I'se comin’ to. Luff go dat whisk’r hair, Esmond Le Clair!’ Thanks. I put dat suit ‘r close on, en started fer Hoboke, finkin’ dat ‘twuz bettah t’ hab one stylish man in 1 yain’t no CONVENIENT. ON THE CHAMP DE MARS. Srmaxcen (in Paris)" What Is the meaning of this great demonstration?” ! does Monsieur not know? Zey hef at last been some Dood shed tna Eeainch del ™ “Nah! Lightnin’ flash come en burnt dem cloze off'n me clean ez Mistah Grabe: at Mr. 1 Hoboke cit’zens ob color is mo’ foh-handed den dey is, chile—dey #s/” s, as he winked a sullen wink ty fer v’ say dat two wd’s lightnin’, but And the splash of a hard body into the soft mud of the dock carried out the truth of the assertion, The BI Star tennis as- sociation play now in blue over= alls and checked jumpers, but they play an honest hee A SONG IN FLY-TIME. Tknow who hates the horrid thisgs That every’ summer sunrise bi With buzzing flur and fuz of wings— My dearest ! 1 know the quick and watchful eyes Matching the hue of cloud-swept skies. Whose glance alért ea: My dearest T know the deft and (It holds my heart, That never fails its prey to land— My dearest! T know that slang should not occur Where well-comported persons stir, But still—there are no flies on her My dearest ! JOUN sonar NO WONDER. “Doesn't your sister float beautifully ?” exclaimed Merritt in admiration as he stood on the beach, “Why shouldn't she," re- d’ club den fob loafahs, when, whad yo" s’pose >" * Bunco?” Mrs. WELPIXT (showing Aunt Japonica the new grounds}—" That is the Lodge over there.” AUNT Jarontca—" How nice it must be to have it so near! uncle belongs to is more 'n four miles from where we live, an’ sometimes it takes him all night to get home.” “The one your plied little Johnny, “when she pads her bathing suits with enough cork to make a life-pree server?” comicbooks.com