Judge — September 14, 1895 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

HIS FIRST AND LAST BALL-GAME, Uncie, Sivas (at Ais first ball-came)—"* I've heerd o' them empires gittin’ mobbed, an’ I cal'late I'll see one direckly, Th’ pesky whelp ’s called two strikes on th’ chap thet’s ingin’ th’ flail, an’ blessed ef th’ ball 's hit it wunst.” FORCE OF HABIT. SSSAY, old man, what makes you pick up pins every time you see them in the street? Are you superstitious ?” “Not at all, When I was a boy I worked in a bowling-alley.” AN AWFUL POSSIBILITY. Miriam (impressively)—" We will soon be wearing tight sleeves again. imagine that bloomers will—will—ever "— Milicent (jn horror)—" That would be terrible !* Do you OBLIGING. CHoLLY Knickernocker—"* Good-morning, sir. for a few hours?” Farmer WAYBACK- Vaal, now, thet beats me. all day ef ye wanter.” 165 A GUEST OF HONOR. ANENGLISH actor was a member of a company snow- bound in the Sierras while en route from California to the east. Before their train was pulled out of the drifts they had been reduced to eating the coarse fare of the railroad laborers, and got little enough even of that; so that they all had a magnificent hunger on when the train reached a small station at which there was a restaurant, and the Englishman was the first to find a seat at a table. “Bring me, in a hurry,” he said to the landlord, a burly western man, “‘a porterhouse steak, some deviled kidneys, a brace of chops, plenty of vegetables, and two bottles of Bass’s bitter beer.” The landlord stuck his head out of the dining-room door and yelled to somebody in the rear apartment, “Say, Bill! tell the band to play ‘Rule, Britannia.’ The prince of Wales has come.” A DISASTROUS FAK Buurrinc Durry (in desperate tonet)—" Quick, mister ! gimme er dime fer er drink, I'm erfraid I'm goin’ ter have ‘em right now.” Dr. Repxostrn. (ef Riverhead)—"* {Bifl) No, yer hain’t (crack '). Lallers perscribe violence (soak !) ter start ‘th’ (bang !) cirkerlation among my (whack !) patients o° your class, — Could we shoot over your preserves My ol’ woman thinks more o' her Presarves than she does o' me ; but there's a pile o' tin cans back o” the barn ye kin shoot over —Thar, yer better a'reddy. Here's my card, When ye git fixed financially ye kin remit me fer my services, Good-day.” ‘comicbooks.com