Judge — August 15, 1896 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

406 IT KILLED THEM. EY wos two fellers in aour taown Wot had an ambition tew tell The latest story what come aroun’, Or the biggest lie or sell. An’ Jim he would ketch the drummers An’ git all the latest jokes, An’ Bill he would treat the trainmen An’ take in stories fer smokes. Folks said they stood about neck an’ neck, So neither could git the lead, Fer Bill had that story abaout the cats G An’ the yarn abaout Tom Reed ; While Jim had a monkey-an’-parrot yarn Would make a cirkiss hoss cough, An’ another about a red-headed gal Would lift a pot-lid off. Till Bill he went up to Albany Tew git a small bill put through, An’ his member o' ‘sembly give ‘im a yarn Was goin’ aroun’ brand new, An’ Jim he went daown the river Fer lumber tew build a barn, An’ the steamboat cap'en he give ‘im ‘The very same brand-new yarn, When they both got back tew the village They met at the corner store An’ both on ‘em started tew tell that yarn "hy An’ the crowd commenced tew roar. They gurgled an’ laughed an’ talked a while, An’ the crowd they cheered each side ‘Till Bill an’ Jim grew red an’ swelled Till they busted wide open an’ disd. AT. woenen, WOMEN AND TRAINS. NOT those graceful appendages which elongate a_woman alter she has reached the floor; not those layouts for in- cautious treads or traps for gentlemanly apology; but railroad trains—trains which arrive on the minute, start on the second, and go blustering off to the centres of feminine shopping. Nothing so quickly destroys confidence in clocks, watches, sun-marks on the kitchen floor, and all other time-keepers upon which women are wont to rely, as the whistle of a locomotive; or so rapidly affects her mechanics as the ting-ting of an en- Rine's bell. Let her start for the train, positively assured by every chro- nometer in the house and her own watch, which she consults at each step, that she has twenty minutes to walk two blocks and A DIFFICULTY. Mrs, BIGRULK: th’ dure afther—an’ yit, be gobs, Oi'd not be on th’ insoide thin !* Suage turn a corner to reach the depot; then let a whistle blow or a bell ring, and in goes her watch, grab goes her hand for a bunch of skirts, front goes her clutched bag. in pops her chin, out go her elbows as assisting flip- pers, and she starts, with an unbumpered jerk and a pronounced No matter how fat; no matter how thin; be she dumpy, stately, old or young. stiff or active, off she goes with every motor appliance doing its best, and with but one idea driving her—I will be left. NO INDUCEMENT, RavereNp Goopman— What ! fishing on Sunday, little boy? Wouldn't you like te be a good little boy and go to Sunday-school 2” LITTLE Boy (disdain fully\—** Wot! wit’ suckers bitin’ like dis? I guess nit.” All feminine proprieties are forgotten. She takes to the pavement side for better foot-hold ; she skirts hitching-posts and shies around trees, collides with coming or going creatures of whatever make, cuts street-corners, jumps gutters, toes it through mud-holes. What matter, then, to her if there is a hole in her stocking? What matter if her hat gets crooked? What matter if she leaves a trail of hair-pins? What matter if she loses some hair? That train is the last that ever will veave that station—and it is starting ! Panting, puffing, red in the face and mad, she turns the last corner, The station is in sight! The track is clear, save where, far off, stands a side-tracked engine that but a moment ago sounded its signal of retirement. She stops, drops her skirts, stares at it and wildly up and down the track. A blank look of disappointment flattens her face. No one knows what she says. No one xnows what week-day thoughts pass through her brain, Nothing knows but the clutched bag and her skirts what a shaking it would get if she had hold of it just then, She preens herself secretly, that no one may see; she brushes herself impatiently where some inconsiderate dog is pretended to have smudged her. She composes herself to the mutest and meekest and most deliberate of females. A. running woman bumps, then dashes past her. In kindliest of tones she calls after her, * You need not hurry. My watch is right. Fifteen minutes yet; and this train is always late.” CHARLES MCILVAINR. th’ ownly way I kin think ovis ter cum out fust an’ shut [T SEEMS strange, but even an expert cannot tell, when he hears a girl scream, whether she’s being kissed or murdered. comicbooks.com fir ric