Judge — July 31, 1909 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

AN EDITORIAL CH. “Here isa little the Roses." 1. Poet “Pray pardon my intrusion, miss, I'm neither bold nor f I only ask, oh, maiden If I can tote your grip The young lady threw her head back haugh- tily. “You impudent upstart!"* snap] “If you dare speak to me again, I will call the she constab And without so much as another glance at r, she tripped out of the station. How strange it is,'’ murmured Homer, “that some people can't appreciate poetry! Well, here old Farmer Harda . He's been to York on a pleasure trip. Perhaps Tecan win him with aquatrain."’ Homer stepped up and, slapping the old man on the back, re- cited in a high tone of voice: 2 Hom 7% “THERES LOTS OF P ’ BYGS LEFTY. Fake off'your shoes and # seralcl) like a chicken, 2S “Old New York is the farmer's joy, With its girls and gold-bi “ Hy So; now that you are back ag fanaa I'll lug your carpet-bags.” Homer tried tograb the frayed handles of the ear- pet-bag, but the old man yanked him up by the collar and landed him down on a crate of eggs with a crash, *Yeou measly, onion-f I" he exploded. “* What do yeou mean by tell pout gold-bricks? uae. | DONT BOTHER ME . Jo DAY Editor—"* What! with roses a dollar a Do yeou think Tam one of the idiotic farmers the Sunday papers picture their supplements? I'll teach yeou to insult honest folks, by heck !"" Giving Homer a cuff across the checks, the irate in stalked out of the The poet laureate was what abashed. This cer strenuous work ! Homer, rubbing his smart- ing checks, ‘* There must be something wrong some- where. Let me see—per- haps my quatrains are not funny enough. I ought to make people laugh. Well, I'll bet my next one will be a giggle burster all right. Ah, here is my chance!" Down the platform sauntered a chap with ox- like shoulders and muscles that protruded like hams. He was a pugilist searching for training quarters in some quiet hamlet, but Homer did not know it. With a dainty side-step he approached the big man in the green sweater. Then he piped: “Oh, I’m brother to a jackass, ‘Cousin to a skunk; Please, kind sir, Can I carry your trunk?”” The big man gave Homer one look. Then he took him gently, but firmly, and tossed him through the skylight. Was Homer wearing the porter cap and reciting quatrains in the station nextday? Nev-ah! Homer was sawing wood at fifteen cents per hour and inditing odes to rhubarb pie and apple sauce during his dinner hour. Thus was the office of poetical porter at Pollywog Junction crushed out forever. VICTOR A. HERMANN. EASILY REMEDIED. Seaver— The citizens of Squirrel June- tion petitioned the U. and D. to give them a new station.”” Weaver—'* Did they get it?” Seaver —"Sure thing! The railroad company changed the name of the station to Bloomdale.”” Dont GorHer | ne | nu ‘IL be lucky if you get pl THE HAMMOCK GIRL. 3 her take a studied pose, 8 a charming poem; rsa pair of pretty hose, And rather likes to show ’em, CE WHERE THINGS MOVED. Drummer— “1s there a stationery store at Crow Bend 2? Stage driver—"1 couldn't say, pard, that you'd find anything stationary at Crow Bend, because they havea twister in them parts most every day what starts things but she "sively, and I'm shore you'd like the APL movin’ place.’”