Judge — September 21, 1901 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

Judge’s Funny Stories by Serious People, and Vice Versa. THE NO-MATTER CLUB. By Harold Bele. THE No- Matter Club met and without preliminaries proceeded to illumine the darkened understanding of the scornful. “There is no death,” began a grave member who had re- signed a clerkship in a crema- tory and now, subsisting on the tithes of the faithful, de- lighted in proclaiming the liv ing truth, “ T regret to have to report,” interposed the secretary, “that a devoted member, Abigail Hope, has passed away since our last meeting, but I rejoice to add that she protested with her expiring breath that death is a dim delusion. “ Furthermore,” continued the secretary, “after we had reluctantly called in the un- dertaker — a monster created by mortal thought — we less reluctantly opened the decedent's will, for as her metaphysical advisers we had in- HAROLD BOLCE. Never,” said he. duced her as an evidence of good faith to prepare a final testament, all the while assuring her that the No-Matter fellowship is a field in which the Reaper harvests only the tares. “ We will hear the will,” clamored the Club in unison. “*T, Abigail Hope, being of sound and disposing ego, bequeath to the No-Matter Club the sum of one hundred and eighty thousand dollars for the propagation of the truth that death is a malign myth born of over- worked credulity,’” the secretary read. “Is that the whole of the estate?” demanded the vigilant High Priestess. Not quite,” responded the secretary. “She left one hundred dollars each to a mere brother and sister, not of the faith.” “It is a pity that she could not have severed every tie that bound her to Error,” sighed the High Priestess. “ We must go into the courts to rescue these worse than wasted two hundred dollars,” said the treasurer with dignity. A timid member who had not yet come into full fellowship with the saints ventured to suggest that possibly they should be content to claim no more than one hundred and eighty thousand dollars. This sentiment was vigorously denounced as an unworthy compromise with the world. “* Our dear Abigail had a nervous habit of destroying old wills and making new A dismal heretic —a fanged wolf who had smuggled himself into this placid fold — now spoke. “ You teach,” said he, “ that your followers should give their substance to your cult and not amass temptation for the moth and rust. When you-want gold, you say, all that you have to do is to think gold, and presto! the circulating medium begins to come your way, And yet you rush into court to squeeze from the relatives of the dead the last ultimate inch of her estate.” “By keeping money from the groping and deluded kins- men of our members,” explained the serene High Priestess, “we prepare their minds for the re- A dismal heretic —a fanged wolf who had smuggled himself into this placid fold—now spoke. ception of our sublime doctrine of re- nunciation.” “Wall Street,” retorted the unbe- liever, “may not be the Narrow Way that leads to Walhalla, and cornering the market is not a sacrament, but they compare rather favorably with your strangling the flesh and blood of the late lamented at the portals of her tomb.” To silence the sneers of their in- temperate critic and assert the power of the Higher Metaphysics over vulgar clay, a member proposed that they should now enter the silence and restore their testatrix to life. This daring suggestion caused the Legal Light of the Club to rise and scintillate. His nearly bald head shone with almost supernatural splendor. A few surviving hairs struggled against manifest destiny. “Never,” said he. “Our dear Abi- gail had a nervous habit of destroying old wills and making new ones. In a supreme moment she gave nearly her all to our matchless science, and it is but fair now that we per- mit her to go unvexed to her reward. To bring so noble a soul back to a world of uncertainty, of grasping relatives and obstinate surrogates, were easy, but it would be an instance of black ingratitude.” The Legal Light, beaming seraphically in the consciousness of duty loftily performed, resumed his seat. ‘Again the unregenerate dissenter spoke. “T have no intention of splitting hairs,” he exclaimed, flashing an ex- ultant gaze upon the bald expanse of the last speaker, “but a system of psycho-medica which, at will, can raise the dead ought to be able to sprout : and needed growth on yonder resplendent dome that harbors so vast He had struck a soft spot ; his victim reddened, and rose in wrath, his fists clenched. The High Priestess, suspecting that the Legal Light was about to resort to a retaliation more forcible than forensic, ordered the janitor to turn out the gas, and the meeting adjourned in unaccustomed gloom. comicbooks.com