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

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

Mr. Noop.enoy Miss SHARFLEY , HE THOUGHT ‘HIMSELF VERY CLEVER. Xo wonder you girls are so fond of tennis. but ‘love wie thal ‘ands for nothing in this game, you kno There's so much * lov: * going on in it, isn’t there?” AN ASTONISHING ANSWER. Old gentleman (at bird-store) — Polly, want a cracker?” Polly —* Well, if it’s a stale one I don’t want it, but if it’s anything decent I might stand a pound or tw son—the lovely Marguérite. She had smiled on Gribrichon just now She would not smile on Le Becuf, Whiz-2-2—clip!_ Once more the ball shot into Le Bocuf's hands. “ Ball—three,” came from the umpire’s pale, compressed lips. _ Le Bocut’s face becomes devilish in its expression as he tosses the PREFERRED TO THE OTHER KIND. ball back Again the ball goes whizzing by. Old Mrs. Holbrooke —""\ see by the paper, John, that this Mr, Sher- anned the wide out-doors. “Strike—two."” Gribrichon hi wood who is running for coroner is de- scribed as a very live man.” Old Mr. Holbrooke—" Well, I'm glad of that, We don’t want any dead men running for office around here.” LOST, AND ALL FOR LOVE. AFTER THE FRENCH, s6DLAY BALL!" The command came sharply from the lips of the stern, grizzled umpire, who had faced death in a thousand games. This was the great game of the Sansculottes against the Absinthe Frappes. The score stood 3 to 2 in favor of the Sansculottes; it was the last half of the ninth inning; the Absinthe Frappes had two men out and three on bases. Gribrichon was at the bat. Gribrichon, the strong, the powerful, the darling, the daisy, the giant, the big unlicked. Le Bavuf was catching for the Sans- culottes. Eagerly he bent forward, till he was nearly double. His little black shot hateful gleams between the ites of his mask. He hated Gribrichon. Why? Yonder, in the grand stand, the rea- UNWRITTEN HISTORY. don't feed Aim no more.” * Didn't he fee yer 7” Tain't that. Ie sent me back for imported Worcestershire sauc Le Bacuf grins with fiendish exulta- tion, ‘The pitcher pauses before he deliv ers the decisive ball, All eyes are on Gribrichon, If he fails to swipe the sphere the Absinthe Frappes have lost the day. Like a statue he stands, pale, but determined. The vast multitude is hushed, A breath would be sacrilege in this solemn moment. “Oh, Gribrichon !* The words come from Marguérite, scarcely above a whisper, but piainly audible in the vast prevalence of hush. The strain had been too great for her. Gribrichon stirs uneasily, He is rattled. Just then the ball whizzes by. Gri- brichon is off his guard, and lets it go. “Strike—three ; striker out. ‘The Absinthe Frappes have lost. A howl goes up from the multitude —a prolonged, awful howl. ‘rea chump; I've got the bulge on you now,” hisses Le Bauf into Gribrichon’s ear, ‘Then he goes to- ward the grand stand. Marguérite, smiling, radiant, comes to meet him. Gribrichon butts out his brains on the home-plate, comicbooks.com