Judge — August 9, 1902 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

ce 1 ‘iy U; wi 1. 1 tell you, if lever have a son there is'one thing cer- he will have to treat me with respect." OFFENDED, Hat-clerk—" This is a genuine panama—guaran- teed to hold water. Colonel Bluegrass—* Take it away, sah, and show me a plain straw.” ONE BENEFIT. WHAT A MAN INTENDS TO DO WHEN HE GETS MARRIED. 2, Tue son (twenty years later)—""| say, governor! haven't pulled your leg for a week. Cough up a hundred, and be quick about it!”” “Thar's one good thing about * autos,’ Silas."* “| hedn't noticed it." “Well, thar is. Th’ average hoss ain't a bit afraid o° harm- less steam-kyars no more,” WHAT HE WAS WORTH. 66\JHAT have you been WwW figuring on all alt- ernoon 2” asked the ice-man of the coal-wagon driver. “ Tryin’ to get at what I'm worth to the company,” was the answer. “You see, I weigh in with every load Thaul, an’ at the rate o° six dollars an’ fifty cents a ton I figger that I'm worth eight thousand, six hundred and thirty-four dollars and twen- ty-eight cents to them dur- in’ the season.” IN THE CATSKILLS. Hashly— That veteran seems to be the star boarder of this farm-house.” Fishballs— Of course. He has only one arm and can't do so much reaching as the rest of us.” AT LAKE PLACID. ” observed the man as he perused the menu, “ What is?” inquired his companion, thinking that the price of small birds had 66THIS is the limi been increased. . “Why,” explained the man, “it was bad enough when they printed the bill-of-fare in French, but now « they are ringing in Irish.” Here he pointed to the word wa “ froid” with a finger trembling with scorn. ‘THE CLOUD-COOK. (By an epicure.) INE summer eve I watched the clouds, Of many a brilliant sunset hue, Go sailing past in scudding crowds Across the arch of heaven's blue. Some clouds were like vanilla cream And some were tinged with strawberry; Some like whipped syllabub did seem, And made me long to taste the sky. And many looked like floating island, While others made such good meringue I deemed the sky-land turned to pie-land, Where tempting tarts forever hang. Down in the west were golden cakes, And some were coated o'er with ice. I wonder when the cloud-cook bakes And how to bribe her for a slice? Her smoking ovens, too, I saw (She cooks by steam with swiftness dire); And when you hear the thunder roar, Or mark the lightning-flash before, She's only kindling up her fire. I saw her fresh croquettes of rice, Just where the glowing sun went down, * Set out in rows so clean and nice And fried a toothsome golden brown. I saw where she had spread her table, With cloth and napkins snowy white. The plates were blue, with edges sable, And all the silver dazzling bright. Now, as I am a living sinner, To those same clouds I'd love to hop And sit me down and get my dinner In that atrial pastry-shop. DANSKE DANDRIDGE. COULD YOU BLAME HER? “She married that jovial chap from Moose Meadow.” “Why, he was as green as a yew-tree.”* “Yes. 1 near she’s left her happy home for yew.” comicbooks.com