Judge — August 4, 1906 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

i ACCORDING to Webster, a Flat (Hellobuloo- rum Roughhousi- bus) is an instru- ment of torture in- i digenous to the Twentieth Cen- tury. I quite agree with Web. Icould not have defined it better myself. Our Flat is the Worst Ever. Yes, yes! I know that every victim thinks his Flat the worst ‘on earth; but, be- lieve me, mine is the Masterpiece of refined torture. Therefore I shall write about it. As I sit alone in my Flat to-night my memory goes back to my native homestead upon the Indiana prairie, and I long to be a boy once more and dig my bare toes in the glebe and chase thence the sportive fish-worm. For those were the happy days, far, far away, when I wist not what it was to become a Flat Dweller, whose nights are dreams of murder and whose days are one long yearning to call in the police. Up stairs lives a girl who plays the Piano and sings bass. Her sister is singing and dancing. She weighs two hundred and fifty pounds, and her voice is champion of the heavy-weight division. Their Big Brother joins in the harmony, and they are singing + Everybody Works But Father.” Now the door- bell rings and George comes in, Now the bell rings again and Charlie enters and says ‘Haw, haw, haw !" in a large, vir- ile tone, and then the Flat Above sounds like the twentieth * round in a long-dis- tance prize-fight. I think they are all Rassling. That over, they go back and take it out of the bedeviled Piano. It is the fash- ion in Flats to use the Piano as a Filler. Every social and con- versational hiatus is filled out by the Pi- ano. When a young man evinces a dispo- sition to Hug, Daugh- ter makes her Getaway under pretense of batting a symphony out of the Piano, If George begins to yawn Sweet Thing makes a lunge at the Piano and plays Ragtime until George begins to heel-and-toe. But all this is a Digression. Ah! Now they are playing Pit. I knew it was sure to come. After such a song as «+ Everybody Works but Father,” Pit is the only logical conclusion. There! Daugh- ter just got a Corner on Barley, and a piece of plaster hit me on my cowlick and made a dent in my Convolutions. I just glanced out of the window and saw the Patrol Wagon dash up to the curb; but after the neighbors had put their heads out of the window the wagon went reluctantly away. The officers thought it was Murder. Would it were! : “Up stairs lives a girl who plays the plano and sings bass. She weighs two hundred and fifty pounds."* “They are dealing for a fresh orgy of noise, and to fill in the gap Daughter goes to the Piano and plays * My Irish Molly, O. \HLIFE INAFLAT By LOWELL OTUS REESE. But no; it sounded like the Battle of Liao-Yang, but it was only a Corner on Wheat. War would not make such horrent noises, I am sure, for our Christianized wars are humane. Everybody says so except the dead ones, and they don’t count. General Sherman said what war is, but he was wrong. Pit is. A lull. They are dealing for a fresh orgy of noise, and to fill in the gap Daughter goes to the Piano and plays «* My Irish Molly, 0." She plays her notes by the handful, and does not stop to sort out the decayed ones, If discords are wrapped up with the package she does not allow it to worry her conscience. She blames it all on the man who made the Piano. In days of old they used to stretch a man on the Rack and break him on the Wheel. Now they play the Piano. Oh, for the Dear Dead Days! But this is another Digression, Ah! the party is breaking up. George and Daughter are out in the Hallway saying Good-night. Sweet Thing and Charles are saying it over by the Piano, Brother has gone to bed—I hear him snoring. His Snoring is mingled with the sound of Much Kissing. This is al- most worse than Pit. George has gone home, but Charles and Sweet Thing seem unable to face the ordeal of a separation. Or perhaps she has a strangle-hold on him and refuses to let go until it thunders. Heaven send a storm! He is gone. Iam not much comforted, for I heard him say he would see her to-morrow Evening. He is going to bring Harry and Gus. It is to be a Card Party. 1 know what that means. It means Pit. THUMP! Daughter and Sweet Thing have let down the folding bed. The Folding Bed is the reincarnated spirit of the Garrote. The Holy In- quisition never dreamed of anything like it. Ihave. Of. THUMP! Daughter's shoe. PLUNK! Daughter's other shoe. Plunk-PLUNK! Sweet Thing’s both shoes. Twin snores, ris- ing and falling in weird harmony. Daughter and Sweet Thing are asleep. They: are snoring “Everybody Works But Father” and dreaming of Pit. Down stairs a fond young father is “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, The Boys are Marching with his first-born in his arms. First-born has taken up where Pit and the Piano left off. Out in the back yard a large, virile Cat lifts up his voice and wails of things that hap- pened in one of his spare lives. And so ends another day of Torture in Our Flat. I sleep. Help! MODERN. NO MORE does busy lover write, «My pen is poor, my ink is pale. Such wording is old-fashioned, quite, ‘And would with modern maiden fail. But ‘*Central” hears a wild ‘* Hello!’ And to this message gives brief heed : +" No note to-day, my dear; you know My typewriter is off her feed. LWURANA W. SHELDON, comicbooks.com