Judge — July 23, 1904 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

ne ee eS ee WELL SAID. “Well said; that was laid on with a tro —Shakespeare, “As You Like It AN OLD SALT’S OBSERVATIONS. 66} 402" said Satan. Whose soul is that you fellers is all sweatin’ an’ a.crackin’ of your muscles over as you bring him fresh to hades ?" “It belonged to a poor truckman,” said one of th’ pantin’ imps as soon as he could git his breath, an’ a-wipin’ of his brow, “ who died swervin' his team to save a child; but he'd done a mixed-ale murder years ago.” “My! but it's a real big Politics have changed.”” “Indeed they have. The only politician now who has the nerve to say he loves the laboring man is the fellow who is owned by some trust.”* soul,” Satan said. “ You'll have to lock it in that mam- moth hot-box I had built for John Paul Jones before I made a trusty of him. It's th’ very biggest hot-box in all hades." They started out to do it. Jest then a small devil come a-runnin’ up, light-footed an’ quite merry. “I got some, too,”he squeaked. “ How many ?” asked Satan, grinnin’, an’ lookin’ some surprised to think that sech a little chap could carry anything of sech importance asa soul. “ How many have you got ?” he says, smilin’ at him. “I've got most a dozen,” says th’ little imp; “an' I could brought you sixteen more if they hadn't had good doctors an’ got well. I've got these in th’ smallest pocket of my outgrown vest.” “ Whose be they ?” asked Satan. “Oh, they're jest th’ cunnin’est an‘ th’ littlest souls!" th’ tiny imp replied. «They belong to presidents that was killed by a fallin’ roof at a convention of th’ trusts.” Satan grinned an’ hollered out to th’ boss of th’ structural hot-iron work- ers, who was waitin’ for more orders, * Never mind this job—you ain't needed on it. Jest tell th’ solderers’ union to make me a nice tin pill-box an’ heat it up white-hot an‘ quick. Tell ‘em to make th’ joints tight. An’ it's to be real small—only big enough to hold a dozen high financial souls—but make it strong, for badness knows. I don't want them little insec’s a-runnin’ loose here. They might corner all my coal.” Th’ box was made an’ th’ souls inserted by a chap with little fingers an’ small tweezers. When th’ lid was on Satan held it to his ear an’ shook it. “ My! how them souls do rattle round in there !" he said. RDWARD MARSWALL. SHE IS. A PROBLEM, When summer shines Penelope—"1 suppose you are going to have an And winter whines automobile bo: She is the peachy pearl Gee, Varcwesdetine wie Goll “That makes me whizz Constance— Yes. 1am wondering which I should With Joy_—she is have embroidered on the sleeve—an anchor or a mon- My all-the-year-round girl. key-wrench.” COLLECT? 46] T'S all nonsense,” asserts the skeptic. “It's foolish to talk of communicating with the other world. Why, nobody can get a message to the other side.” “Tdon’t know about that,” replies the credulous person, “Only the other day I heard a man say he was going to wire a skeleton that night.” THE REAL, LIVE POLITICIAN. comicbooks.com