Judge — June 11, 1898 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

uae BOOMTOWN - IN -THE-WEST. MBS M. TWIGGAN, the wife of our leading lawyer, has not made as great social strides as the rest of us could wish. We are very pro- gressive in our village, priding ourselves on a rapid attainment and dis- semination among our neighbors of the very latest social customs. It was when the wife of our local dentist, calling upon Mrs. M. Twig- gan, unloaded not only her own card for the latter lady, but her hus- band’s card, heavily lettered, with an imposing 1. s. d. after his name, together with a card from the expert licentiate for the distinguished mem- ber of the bar (both gentlemen, in the absence of other engagements, be- ing that moment seated shoulder to shoulder, sans coats and cere- monie, on the stoop of Griggs’s general store)—it was then that Mrs. M. Twiggan betrayed herself, proving beyond the shadow of a doubt the impossibility, to use a homely old saw, of “ making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” For, closing the door behind her departing guest and sinking into her rocker, she said to me, “Well! They ain’t no style about Jemima M. A DIFFERENCE. — : THR PARSON —'* My friend, don’t you know > Twiggan—they never wuz—but to take MY nat every drop of that seufl is poison?” husband's cards roun’ to my friends—a-ad- Pat —“ Poison? Whoy, mon aloive, it’s &* 4. vertisin’ his bizness—when y'can hire Jim- five-year-old whishky !* my Griggs for maybe no more’n a nickel—I couldn’t—no, I couldn't—if Hosiah never got the drawin’ up of another contrac’ in this world!" If it were not that Mr. M. Twiggan appoints the school-teacher in Boomtown I should not hesitate to proclaim Mrs. M. Twiggan a social impossibility. cr ait bei neanicee tintin | hd eet ns MLE sty i Me ipew -€%4) \ qi PERPETUAL MOURNING. CLARENCE and Ethiopia are great chums, not- withstanding the difference in color. In fact, that there was any difference in color did not seem to have occurred to either until the other day. Ethiopia is a half-orphan, the scarcely-to-be- regretted author of his being having departed, a year ago, after a “hot time” in this life to the probable enjoyment of something of a similar description elsewhere, “Oh, Ethy,” said Clarence, patting Ethy's shin- ing cheek as they shared a tight-fitting seat in the small wheelbarrow, “ you're black. What makes you so black, Ethy ?” “ Dunno,” responded Ethy slowly, allowing his mind to stray over a variety of possible solutions, ‘less it's ‘cause ma fawser's daid.” JUST THE REVERSE, Why don’t you enlist in the navy and throw bombs into the Spanish schooners ?” —‘*Nit. Dere’s more money in stayin’ home an’ t'rowin’ American schooners into Friexn # YOU are not so much,” said the handle-bar to me the saddje; “you are always sat upon,” : A GRATUITOUS HAIR-CUT. PARK GRASS MOWER — “* By the saints! this do be about the worst PANHANDLE BiLL—"" Well, dere’s insults fer yer! I'm blowed if dat plot of ground fer mowin’ I iver shtruck.”* guy didn’t mow my hair clean orf.” comicbooks.com