Judge — February 13, 1897 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

HAVE sent for you, Mr. Pendally,” said the able editor, addressing the young reporter lately from the city of brotherly love, “to make you more fully acquainted with the methods and practices of metropolitan jour- nalism than you seem to be at present. As aresult of your assignment you have turned in the following.” Adjusting his eye-glasses, the editor read aloud : “*The whole wide west was gorgeous with the glory of the declining sun, and its golden splendor flamed broadly across the horizon. The outlines of the giant buildings stood out dark and clean-cut against the background of crimson and orange. Long / trails of smoke streamed in quaint curves and convolutions athwart the sky like '—er—er— is it ‘ tantalized tapeworms "2" declared the reporter, quivering with wounded dig- nic traceries.’ Your chirography is a trifle compli- cated,” returned the editor, and resumed his reading: “‘The day wasted slowly away, the gorgeous spectacle fading reluctantly, and the band of brightness growing narrower and more meagre. The pale sky seemed to recede and vanish as the pall of night settled slowly down, Darkness, sombre and dank, fell. The sun had set Now, Mr. Pendally,” pursued the editor pitilessly, interrupting himself, “that is all very pretty, but what does it mean?” “Why, “Exactly! I judge that the gist of the whole thing is con- tained in the last paragraph that I read, viz.,* The sun had set'?” “Yes, sir; but “—— “Well, then, with no wish to be brutally abrupt, let me ask why in thunder didn’t you let it set? Moreover, Mr. Pendally, where is the rest of the story?” “ The—er—rest, sir?” “Precisely. You recall the nature of your assignment, do you not, of which you seem to have written merely the intro- duction—the time of the occur- rence? That, by the way, is contrary to all the ethics of journalism. No account of an event should begin with a state- ment of the time of its hap- “No, sir those three sleeping Cuban soldiers?” SPANISH CAPTAIN (odestly)— SPANISH GENEKAL—" Unprecedented ! recommend your valor to the Phenomenal ! ome office for knighthood.” ir, L—1"—— BROKE HIS VOW. ** I had the pleasure of meeting your husband last evening. He told me all about California. He seemed to be full of reminiscences.” “Oh, my ! and George just promised me never to touch another drop of liquor.” WHAT HE REALLY WAS AFTER, —"" Did yew ride ‘way in here jes’ ter buy that gallon uv whisky, Abner?" ARNE consarn yer hide, Silas! yew orter Anow I wouldn’ leave my farm right in ther middle uv plantin’ an’ ride ‘wav in here jes’ ter buy a gallon uy whisky. I kem ter town ter-day pupuss ter buy my wife a spool uv write cotten thread, an’ gol darn my buttons ef T hadn't clean fergot all about that thread until you spoke.” STORE-KERDI oy A SPANISH MILITARY WONDER. SPANISH GENERAL—"‘Are you the brave captain who with only four hundred men captured seflor ; and only lost seventeen men in the engagement.” I not only promote you, sir, but will pening; but we will let that "a “But I—1 forgot, sir; 1 “So I imagine. You were so absorbed in the concoction of the picturesque portrayal of the non-essential that you failed to recall, as they say out west, ‘where you were at’ and why you were there. Your style may be and doubtless is acceptable in the comatose settlement of Ladieshomejournalville, but it is a trifle too circumlocutory and labyrinthic for New York.” So saying, the able editor ran his blue pencil across the production of the young reporter and handed to the callow wight a slip of paper upon which he had written the two essential words which he had saved from the wreck of matter, namely, “Last night "— “Take these words, Mr. Pendally,” he said, “and add to them the rest of the story. Good- day, sir.” rou 7. woncas, HAS A CHANCE, THE man whose life hangs by a thread, Perhaps beyond all hope, Is better off by far than he Whose life hangs by a rope. AN IMPORTANT PERIOD. . ‘| SHALL have to take little Emerson down town this afternoon,” said Mrs. Bosting to her husband at the breakfast- table. “What for?” “To be measured for a pair of spectacles.” comicbooks.com