Judge — February 1, 1896 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

age “But,” he shrieked, “1 did not know that there were others !" “ Yes,” continued the fair girl, taking her gum out of her mouth and fastening it under the pedestal of the par- lor-lamp ; “ yes, Ze is another, and Ae—Archibald, how oft- en have I told you not to try me too far?—he approves of bloomers.” With a sharp, nauseat- ing thwack Archibald Ham- merdown dropped into the nearest installment-plan chair, and in another second the super-steam- heated glue had broken faith with it and he was sitting on the red table- doily which did duty for a carpet. He would have been lying on it if there had been room. “Miscreant!” he roared between his front teeth. “No; viper, I mean—viper! When you hear that I am no more think of this after- noon’s work and weep!” With that he dragged himself up from the floor and, with the doily still adhering to his trousers, rushed from the room. Next day he moved to Brooklyn, wo —— CAN'T HOLD A CANDLE TO TT, MADELINE ORVIS, Rooster (as Sam looks over the fence)—'* Tak-tak-tak, take care!” THE SUICIDE OF ARCHIBALD HAMMERDOWN. N THE bijou drawing-room of a Harlem flat a young lady of up-to- snuff sixteen awaited the coming of her lover. Ten minutes before she had pushed the governing button which admitted him to the vesti- bule, and now she had but to wait another ten or fifteen while he ascended the seven flights of stairs leading to the Fogarty domicile just under the roof, + She stood with the train’ of her two-dollar-ninety-cight tea-gown trailing out on the fire-escape and with one arm resting on a folding- bed which in day-time was a very good representation of an ink-stand. She was waiting. Up through the mortared well of the air-shaft was borne the sound of the voices of her mother and the janitor, engaged in adiscussion about the number of scuttlefuls contained in a quarter of aton of coal. No other sound was heard. Presently the door was thrown open against the radiator with a crash and Archibald Hammerdown, wild-eyed, disheveled, a mere out- line of himself, burst into the room and struck the mantel-piece with his forehead. “ Mabel!" he gasped; “ Mabel, my love, what is it? For well I know when you summon me by postal-card marked ‘immediate’ it purports some dire disaster.” “Archibald,” she answered, “I will not keep you one moment in suspense. THE MUDDY CROSSING AND THE KIND-HEARTED COP, \orn VETS So MAKING UP THE AVERAGE, NEw Barber (lowly)—"* Shall I charge him ten cents extry fer bay-rum on that bit of hair?” Propxietox (softiy)—"* Cert! We've got to make up some way for the terrible drainage of bay-rum on foot-ball mops lately.” comicbooks.com