Judge — 1891 — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE'S A NEW GARMENT. “Say, Moses, look here, I've brung back them pants; they're no good.” “ Mine frendt, votis der madder mit dose pants?” “The fust time I put ‘em on every bla:ned button come off.” “You vas not post- ed on der fushions, mine frendt. Dose is der new Kodak pants.” * What you givin’ us? What is Kodak pants?” “Oxeckly; dot shows your ignorance. Dem vos my two-dollar Kodak pants. ‘You press der but- tons undt ve does de rest.’ See? You vas righd in shtyle, mine frendt. Isaac, gif de shentleman a card of buttons, Good-day. BORROWMORE BLOWER'S LETTER TO THE JUDGE. Rather late hours for a benedict, I'll admit, but I don’t see why a man should be expected to give up every amusement just because he's gone and got married. Mrs, Blower mildly insinuates that “a husband’s enjoyment should be beneath his own roof. If I preferred ‘stag’ parties, where revelry was kept up to all hours, why did I marry?” Had I told Mrs. Blower that I married her for the little annuity she settled on me, there would have been more remonstrance and more tears. I sought in every way, without compromising myself as the head of the house, to reconcile her to my little derelictions, but she remained immovable as a rock. Therefore, when Jamborino gave one of his inimitable even- ings at home last week,.I prepared to go, and affected not to hear the sighs or see the tears. “The third night in one week that I have been left alone,” she murmured. I pretended not to hear her, for I was unyielding in my deter- mination to go, though my conscience told me I was spreading it on, to say the least, rather thick. Iam naturally kind-hearted and forgiving. I would show her that I didn’t take offence at her remarks regarding my neglect. wponemsamemars ANNUAL. ON DANGEROUS GROUND. Aunt Rosaxna—"" I took the liberty of instructing your modiste to have your ball-dresses cut with regard to the r : CLEMENTINE— juirements of what promises to be a cold winter, my dears, We don't get half a show, do we, Bess?” While thus ruminating on my way to Jamborino’s, I passed a millinery store. The show-window was full of those little calamities that women always want, Chief of them was a pink bonnet—a mite of an affair. I rushed in, for they were putting up the shutters, and purchased it. Pink was Mrs. Blower’s favorite color. I would send it asa “ peace-offering "to her at once. But the shopkeeper informed me that the errand-boy had gone home; he would send it off the first thing in the morning. That wouldn’t answer. I would take it to my beloved, myself. I demurred at his putting it in the regulation band-box. I had a capacious pocket in the tail of my coat, where it might be stowed away without damage either to the feathers or flowers, (Continued on page 60.) THE ACCIDENT TO OUR PHOTOGRAPH CASE. It got "* pied " during the summer, and our office-boy has attempted to replace the name-cards where they respectively belong, with indifferent success. comicbooks.com