Judge — March 18, 1899 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

A LITERAL MISUNDERSTANDING. Paxson Howtett—" Mah tex’ fo' dis ebenin’s disco’se am toe be foun’ in Phillipians, chapter ”"— Deacon Goone (arising and making for the door) —** Sorry {0' toe cause talk, but T hears dis Phillipines question six days in de week, an’ I doan sit fo’ to hear it on Sundays nobow.”” 6 6 MMAY I make a noise?” I asked of a Bostonian, * What is the nucleus of the noise you offer to produce? the singing of the wind, or the music of the spheres ?” “the noise I wish to make is just a common noise.” “ Then,” he an- swered, “ you had better extinguish the light of your presence from Beacon hill.” “May I make a noise?” It was an Englishman whom I ad- dressed. He stopped and looked hopelessly about. “A noise,” he said ruminatingly—sort of chewing- the-cud style. Somewhere in the far-away cells of his brain he was seeking the definition of noise. Then slowly adjusting his monocle he raised himself on his tip-toes to have a better view of me. “Ah, hum—a—n-o-i-s-e " — but I had disappeared in the crowd. I came across a Chicagoan. “ Could I make a noise,” I said. He pulled a telegram from his pocket and read it while he inquired * What kind of noise—the noise of motion, of electricity, of steam?” “ Oh, no; just the noise of a whistle.” “ Whis- AANA lues 1 2, THE Proresson’s Pers —'* Say, we won't do a thing to this.” (Bangs the door.) JUST THE NOTHINGNESS OF IT. tle ahead,” he answered ; “but you won't be heard—this is the windy city.” Next I asked a Philadelphian, “Can I make a noise?” “'Sh! no; you might waken my slumbering ancestors.” . Then I asked a New-Yorker. 4 “ Noise?” he said. “* What do you want to make a noise for?” “ Oh— for nothing,” I answered. “ Make all the noise you can.” And he rushed on toward Wall street. “ May I make a noise?” I in- quired of a Frenchman. “A noise —ze vish to make ze noise? Ah, monsieur he make all ze noise he vish. Voild! zen monsieur he pay ze monnies.” Is it the rush of many waters, “No,” I said; 208 FLEMING SMILAY. POST-MORTEM FOOD. [8 HEAVEN all eat angel food, And nectar 's served to most ; Bat in the regions down below They give us all a roast. THE BLUE PENCIL. HAT government vessel does the city editor of a metropoli- tan daily paper most. resemble? Answer—A revenue-cutter. a olga 1. ProrEsson X. P centrating a year's nourishment in each of these pellets. hour and note any changes.” MENT—"* Eureka! 1 have at last succeeded in con- T will return in an 3 Professor (returming)—'* Wow ! I've got ‘em again !” WHY THE PROFESSOR STOPPED EXPERIMENTING. comicbooks.com