Judge — January 5, 1889 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

206 JUDGE “dTriep + Out = By + Fire:D on, WHAT SHALL A FAT MAN RENDER WHEN HE SHALL BE TRIED? By the author of The Horse and His Diseuses," which the same is Bu Nye, CHAPTER II. FROM the Methodist church lights leamed across the crystal snow and merry laughter could be heard from within, as young people, with kindly thoughts toward each other, joyfully decorated the church with tamarac and spruce boughs, or adorned themselves with pitch as they sat down on the sappy fragments of the evergreen, All was mirth and gladness, Pearl Butts was there, right, effervescent, gladsome Pearl, She was the life of the party. She was young, red-headed and emotional. Her step was light and her movements swift as those of a frightened steer in a cornfield. She was dressed becomingly in a nineteenth-century costume, which — was a kind of an invisible plaid drap de Henrietta, with front of shrimp a young and dashing drug clerk, who had attained an enviable reputation pink and waist smocked e V., with tight sleeves and court train hand- for the invention of a system of bookkeeping for a soda fountain by which, somely faced with wiggin. no matter how many kinds of syrups were used, even if they were all Other girls were there, but none of them seemed a patching to Pearl. mixed for the same customer, the proprietor could tell at a glance how he Ab, Pearly Pearl, you made sad havoc among honest hearts that day stood. . with your demure but cute style of cuttings-up! He had also succeeded in making up for bolting and foundered horses an admirable condition powder out of his own head. Heigho! Alas! (To be continued.) HE WISHED THE OTHER KIND. The housewife saw a shadow as it moved across the floor, The substance was a blear-eyed tramp who hammered on the door. He asked for bread, You ought,” she said, ” to be ashamed, I vow! No man should live who does not eat his bread in sweat of brow.” ™ Excuse me, mum," the tramp replied," you You see, mum, I wuz lookin’ fer the bread A SOUND POSITION. He— | don't believe there is a man living who loves home any bet- ter than I do, She—* You're new He— That, my dear, is the very reason | am so fond of i SHE WANTED HERS STRAIGHT. Husband (of the tooth-pick-chewing genus, affectionately)—" Wifey. want a good-bye kiss ?” Long-suffering wife—" Yes; without a stick in it.” ENRY HORNBLOWER was one of those who had always kind of hovered about Pearl and set by her a good deal in his mind. But he had never mentioned it to her, and often said with a sigh to his chum, Polk Dottheim rally called Polkie Dot for short, that he feared he would never, never dast to do so. Henry was of massive mold, with broad shoulders and strong hands, and on the third finger of his left he wore a handsome silver ring with a quarter of a dollar set in the top, which flashed back the light with rare effulgence whenever he wiped his nose or “called off” at the dances and doings of the pampered set to which he belonged. Henry Hornblower came from a long line of ancestors. His stock was really the oldest and best blooded stock generally ex- hibited at the county fair. Henry's parents were self-supporting, and he lived with them in the old home-nest called “The Elms,” a country house which stood back from the road about a quarter of a mile, and had an upstairs to it where they Cried seed-corn, and where a certain rich, nut-brown ratness seemed to pervade the air, He dressed plainly at home and when about his work, but when he went abroad he changed his entire aspect by putting tallow or neatsfoot oil on his boots. Between himself and Pearl there had never been any talk of love. It was really of no use. He couldn't do it and it wouldn't have helped him if he could. ; oe : THE EDITOR (to distinguished contributor)—" | beg ten thousand pardons, For Perrl had already been to several revivals with Kyrle Ellsmere, my dear sir, but the office cat tripped over the wires all in a bunch.” comicbooks.com