Judge — April 17, 1897 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

Sudge MISS MARY ELLEN EAST- SIDE’S ADMIRERS. FTER I'd quit school an’ went t' work pastin’ picture-cards I had no end o' mashes. They uster hang aroun’ the door when we young ladies was a-quittin’ work. One of ‘em had a wife ‘t come an’ pasted him over th’ head with her umbrellar; an’ one of ‘em once had a father come after him, an’ he was a real nice ol’ feller an’ took us all for some ice-cream sody. An’ th’ ol’ gentl'man says, “ Look here, girls, that boy o” mine ‘s nothin’ but a kid, an’ he hain‘t got no money nor no sense. Jes’ now I can’t git him t' go t' work, an’ I won't give him a penny until he does. Now, I've no objection t’ his marryin’ a workin’-girl when he gits old enough. THE EFFECTS OF ALCOHOL I married one myself; but none o' The kind of a snow.storm Jagroller thought he was up You smart, self - supportin’ girls against when he tried to walk home after the ballet. wants anythin’ of him yet awhile; so when he comes moseyin’ roun’ here jest give him a belt in th’ ear an’ send him home.” An’ some of us actilly did. I could have had some nice beaux amongst those telerphone boys that Bob works with, but he’s always so skittish about ‘em; they're such a wild lot. Work sometimes on th’ switch- boards ninety hours at a stretch, an’ then lay off for days with their pay goin’ on jest th’ same. Up in Connecticut, where they was workin’ one time, th’ landlady collected their board in advance an’ then starved ‘em an’ wouldn't give ‘em clean towels; an’ when they left they took their beds down an’ set ‘em up on th’ roof an’ stuffed th’ slats down the kitchen chimney. Bob was in it, both feet, but he don't drink a drop. He's almost a tee-totlar. Use ter be if ma an’ me wanted a little drop o° beer we didn't dass‘t t' let him know we got it, But he's got all over that, especially since his widder ‘s takin’ claret by th’ doctor's orders. She has t' work such long hours. One time Bob brought up some of th’ electric boys that had formed ‘emselves in- ter an orchestry. George is a carpenter down t' th’ electric works, an’ he was amongst ‘em —played th’ mouth-harmoniky. That's th’ first time I ever saw Georgi He'd been keepin’ company with a girl, an’ broke with her because she would eat musk lozenges, an’ he can’t bear ‘em. Of course George told me ‘t he was a singer first chance he got; so we was all gittin’ ready t' sing Sweet Marie” for th’ second time, an’ | wanted ter be perlite, an’ I never ‘d heard him sing, or Lord knows I wouldn't ‘a’ said it, but I 's, * Why don't yout join in th’ chorus, Mr, Holliday?” An’ he looked at’ me kinder quizzical like, an’ he says, Well, I'd like ¢ modate you, Miss Eastside, but I've never yet been able find any way t’ play th’ mouth-harmoniky an’ sing at th’ same time.” ‘That settled it! I jest hated him, An’ 1 told Bob if he ever brought that long-legged, tow-headed galoot up again I'd insult him to his face, But jest see how it’s come out. MADRLINE ORVIS, AFTER THE SHAVE, ‘The spring, the spring, — —the beautiful — Barwer—" What will you have on your face, sir?” Customer (faintly) —" Erysipelas. | think ; it feels that EXCUSED. CaLLeR—"'Can I see Mr. Jones to-night?” —"*Mr. Jones begs to be excused to-noight—he doied this afternoon,” NATALIE LOOKS FORWARD. ITH what good taste this Lenten maid Is garbed. No haughty peeress That Worth and Redfern serve can boast A style so sui generis. ‘The ermine beastie at her throat, The jet-and-velvet turban, And in her muff the violets Proclaim she's strictly urban. But these are minor matters which “Twere frivolous to rave o'er— Mark, rather, how devout she is With youth still in her favor. Her kneeling pose is grace itself, Her lips, they never falter, Bat move like clock-work through the pray'rs, ‘The collect and the psalter. Vet I suspect that she is tired Of Lenten sacrifices, And wearies for a swift return To her small, pleasant vices ; For as I sat behind last night, Upon her charms a feaster, T heard her chuckle to herself, ** Just one more week to Easter ! RDWARD W, BARNARD. —spring. Ang Ameri in this vine, Wit sank, | in the served somet she st which Tribs Atlant Locat duet i mow he gol ‘cause B comicbooks.com