Judge — July 2, 1904 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

MR. KITTLEBY’S CHICKENS. HAT Josiah Kittleby should have gone into the pastime of raising chickens was no wonder. That he should have found it no pas- time was no wonder. ly, clung to it persistently, fussed and fretted over the chickens continually, was no wonder. There never was any wonder about anything Josiah Kittleby did. Mr. Kittleby’s man-ot-all-work, Erastus Johnson, a «‘cullud gemman of the old! school as to courtesy and chickens, had taken a great and abiding interest in the chicken-raising exploit of his employer. He had seen the flock of poultry dwindle from fifty fat pullets and two lazy roosters to fifteen plump hens. He had seen Mr, Kittleby’s interest in the flock dwindle from a sunrise visit, a noonday inspection and a twilight farewell to a once-a-week look. “ Mistah Kittleby,” Erastus announced one morning, “ them thah chickens er yo's sho'ly is a runnin’ dey haids off pesticatin’ ‘roun’ dis yah neighbo'hood. Dey done sp'iled all de flowehs in yo’ yahd, en now dey rampagin’ up en down all de yutheh yahds wuss'n er tribe er elephunts bruk outen er suhkus.” “ Well, ‘Ras,” answered Mr. Kittleby, “I'm tired of those chickens, what I'm going to do. I'm going to dispose of the whole bunch to-morrow. I go into town I'll leave a note for you, telling you what to do with them.” Tell you Before Erastus had reminded Mr. Kittleby that the Mohawk avenue Baptist church! would have a grand supper and concert the next night, and that anything he chose | to give to help the good cause along would be duly appreciated, but the discussion of the chickens seemed to have dismissed the church supper from Mr. Kittleby’s mind, When that gentleman said that he would dispose of the chickens he sent an idea into the head of Erastus which impressed him, as he acknowledged, “as fo'cibly as ef er wasp hed done socked ‘is stinger inter mah haid.” It was late in the after. noon of the next day when Erastus narrated the following tale of adventure : “Well, suh, w'en Mistah Kittleby done tol’ me as how as he ‘uz gwine ter “spose er dem chickens, hit mek me meditate er heap, [ kin tell yo. De mo’ I thinks erbout hit, de mo’ I gits hit in mah haid dat de ‘casion call foh expeditiousin’ wuk. | En so I goes ‘roun’ pas’ Deacon Jones's house en gits him ter call ol’ Brotheh Bindo ovah ter his gate, en « em. Afteh some sagaciousin’ ‘roun’ we ‘cides on er plan, en den we seperates en | comes hack ter de bahn en finishes up mah wuk. At night hit was pow’ful dahk, bein’ as dey ain’ no moon, en de ‘lectable lights dey git de wires cross ev'y which way somehow ernurrer, en so hit hahd ter tell ef Deacon Jones en Brotheh ‘Binilo is white pussons er cullud gemien w'en dey slips inter de bahn. We tree sits dah in de dahk ontwell pas’ midnight twell de white folks up at de house is all gone ter baid en ter sleep, en den we p'oceeds ter ‘laborate mah plans. Deacon Jones he pos'es hissef ovah by de wes’ eend er de chicken-coop, en Brotheh Bindo he tek keer er de eas’ side whah de winder is, en I goes inside ter ‘lieve Mistah Kittleby er dem chickens, Hit’s mah ‘tentions ter lif’ dem one at er time fum de roos’ en han’ dem out ter Deacon Jones en Brotheh Bindo. De roos’es runs up en down on each side, en so I kin han’ de chickens fum side ter side ez I tek dem fum de ros’. Well, evything goes erlong all right twell I gits all but five er dem hens handed out, en den what does I do but fall right swop ovah er big box er chicken feed. In co'se dat stahtles de five chickens what I isn’t got, en in co’se hit skeer de life outen Dea- con Jones and Brotheh Bindo, ca’se dey think hit somebody inside de coop what done grab holt er me. Dem five chickens des begin er squawkin’ en er scuttlin’ en flies outen de winders en de do’ en bump inter de faces er Jones én Bindo, en dem fool niggahs draps dle bags what dey has all de res’ er de chickens inside er ‘em, en den dey sho'ly is er mons'us racket goin’ on, what wid me foutin’ wid de feed-box en de roos'in’ poles what come down en whack me ‘on de haid en tangle in mah aigs en th’ow me mo’ times den I kin git up. “OI Deacon Jones he lets out one whoop dat yo' kin heah clar ercross de crick, en stahts ter runnin’ en lams hissef up ergin’ de fence so hahd dat he onj‘ints he stomach en cain’t eat nothin’ foh nigh onter er week. Den he tek one mo’ staht en des nach'ly to'e out er whole pandle er de fence en goes yippity-yip down th'oo town des de same as if de constabble is afteh him wid er gun en er pack er bloodhoun's. OF man Bindo he’s got er lame laig en cain’t run ve'y well, but he stahts de yutheh way en hit bein’ dahk he cain’t see whah he goin en he ram hissef inter de side er de bahn en yell dat some one hit him wid er san’bag, en den pick hissef up en fall ovah de fence inter de alley en git hissef headed straight afteh lamin’ his yutheh laig on de fence on de yutheh side er de alley, an den he go down dat alley so fas’ he leave er holler place in de aih behin’ ‘im. Dey say dem two men doan’ wait ter open no gates ner dlo’s when dey gits home. Deacon Jones bus’ ‘is own gate plum off er de hinges en nigh onter to'e de do’ down erfo' his wife git up en onlock hit. En den he won’ sleep nowhahs but undah de bed de res’ er de night, en tell ‘is wife ‘dat er passel er whitecappers is got me en tuk en tek me way ovah ter de nex’ county ter hang me afteh dey sicks er whole pack er bloodhoun’s on me ter chew me up. OF Bindo he goes inter his house th’oo de winder—th’oo de glass en all—en hide hissef in de loft en pray en sing twell daylight. En all dis time I's thrashin’ eroun’ im dat fool chicken-coop. In co’se de white folks heahs me en puhty soon Mistah That he should have stuck to it obstinate-| n_I lays de outcomin’ er mah meditations befo' de dofe er | NUAURIQUS WAITING ~ BALL-POINTED PENS (“-eccq table for writing in every position; glide over any paper; never scratch or spurt. Made in England of the finest Sheffield rolled steel, Batt-Pomrea pens arp more durable, and are ahead of ail others FOR EASY WRITING. BALL- POINTED ALWAYS TOP Buy am assorted sample box of 2% pens for 28 snd chease «fen ty ‘tut your hand. Haveng found one, to it? rost raRE Prom H. BAINBRIDGE 4 CO., 99 WILLIAM STREET, NEw Yorn or any Stationery Store. Kittleby comes er runnin’ out wid he gun ter see what am de matteh. En he bring er lante’n finally en dig me out fum undeh all de nes‘es en roos's en dat blame fool feed-box what staht de whole rumpus. He ax me what in de debbil am de matteh, en soon ‘s I kin think up somethin’ I tell him dat I hear some one er tryin’ ter rob de hen-coop en I come out ter p'tect hit, en fo’ er five big men grab me en th’ow me inside en pile de whole business in on top er me. Den Mistah Kittleby des laff en say hit doan’ matteh, he doan’ keer er dam’ erbout de chickens nohow, en foh me ter go on en wash mahsef en go ter baid.” “ Nex’ mawnin’ dey is er note foh me, des lak he say dey gwine ter be. He done put hit in de toolbox in de bahn de ebenin’ erfo’, en dat hoccum I got hit. What yo’ think dat note say? Hit read : « Mistah Erastus Johnsing, deah suh : Inso- much as I am erbout ter git rid er ma chickens I wishes ter tell yo' dat it is mab desiah ter donate dem ter de suppah ter be given ter de Mohawk avenue Baptis chu'ch, consuhnin’ which yo' has already spoke ter me'—des erbout dem ve'y wohds. En, dog mah cats! dat ain’ bad ernuff, but de wusses’ paht er de whole thing is dat dem fool chickens, once dey git stahted, dey doan’ stop runnin’ erway, en dey ain’ nary fedder er any er em been seen ‘roun dis town sence dat night.” Ww. 0, sear, BROKE ALL AROUND. Customer Zweistine—"' Did you hear dot der regiment hadt broke camp?" Proprietor Biexman—'*Ach! | don't know Camp; but I don't vonder at it—dey almost broke me yet. Vere does Camp keep his beer-saloon ?"" ‘THE MAGIC OF THE MOTH-BALL. I may not sing the lavender of grandma's , Through winter's long and bitter days it gentle prime, weltered in its fume, Or the hay that scents the meadows o shalt: multiplied by tar it trickled the odor-blowing thyme. through the room ; But the anguish of the moment fairly An odor so miraculous, so subtle, yet #9 drives me to compose strong Stanzas to the little moth-ball that pre-| That neither moth nor man could live serves my summer clothes. within its presence long. ‘The marble finished moth-ball, It was the magic moth-ball, The safe and useful moth-ball, The highly seasoned moth-ball, The unpretentious moth-bail that} The medicated moth-ball—nothing preserves my summer clothes. could withstand it long. f) Like a She laid my suit so tenderly upon the shelf last fall, And in each pocket, crease and seam she dropped one tiny ball. I durst not groan, I durst not moan; 1 only heard her say, “Tis the magic of the moth-ball that will keep the moths away.” The germ-destroying moth-ball, The hygienic moth-ball, The permeating moth-ball that will Again I take the garment down with fee ings strangely sad. No moths have gnawed its flowing seams—oh, how I wish they had! For with that unrelenting smell stil clinging to the cloth I turn and flee my summer suit as fed the little moth. The fumigating moth-ball, The time-defying moth-ball, The unforgetting moth-ball keep the moths away. can blame the little moth? —The Globe. Desiring paper of superior excellence and uniformity can secure it of the makers of the HERS Papers used in the various publications of THE JUDGE PUBLISHING COMPANY. comicbooks.com