Judge — August 19, 1911 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

UNKNOWN TO HIM. “You told me you had nothing but distant relatives, and now I find you have several un- cles who are quite wealthy.”” “That's just it. Their being wealthy is what makes them so distant."’ Mr. Gimp was not a tall man, and the lone fly was weaving figure eights high above his head. Ten jumps Mr. Gimp made for the fly, and each time he be- came madder than before. “‘Hah!"’ he cried, when he had made his ninth jump. Cautiously he opened his closed fist. There was no fly in it. The fly was sitting on the front door screen, “If you open the screen a moment, Reginald,’’ said Mrs. Gimp, ‘‘the fly will go out.’’ “‘What’s that?’’ cried Mr. Gimp. “Open the screen? Turn that raging peril out upon a helpless community? No, indeed! No, indeed! You may do that, Martha, if you are so heartless; but I respect my neighbors’ rights. I'm a fly exterminator. I’m a— Give me that newspaper!”” Mrs. Gimp had picked up the evening paper that Mr. Gimp had thrown on the floor when he entered. She handed it to him, reading the headlines as she held it slowly toward him. Mr. Gimp grabbed the paper. Grabbed is the word. He jerked it—yanked it—any word you choose. He rolled it into a short, hard paper club. With the club he jumped at the screen and he struck the fly with all his might. Only the fly was not there! Mr. Gimp’s knuckles scraped along the screen, leaving their skin behind, and his blow made a great dent; but the fly was not there. It circled hastily and alighted on Mr. Gimp’s bald head. Instantly, and with a whack that sounded like a plank striking the water, Mr. Gimp whacked the top of his head with the newspaper, and the fly flew close to his eyes. Mr. Gimp struck at it with his other hand and sent his eye- glasses crashing against the hat rack. “Wow!” said Mr. Gimp, and put his hand over his nose. He had almost killed his nose, but the fly, merry and gay, buzzed a laugh and sailed into the darkened parlor. Mr. Gimp darted after it. ‘*Martha!"’ he shouted, as he struck aimlessly at the air with his newspaper club. ‘‘Can’t you come here? Haven't you a grain of sense? Can't you see I’m trying to exterminate this fly? Why don’t you come in and let some light into this’’—— Bang! Clatter! Tinkle! The sat- suma vase fell to the floor. “Thunderation!"’ cried Mr. Gimp. “‘What do you mean by’’—— It was not the vase Mr. Gimp was angry about. A man in his exterminat- ing mood does not mind vases. He loves to whack ’em. It was the fly paper. As Mrs. Gimp raised the blind she Mr. Gimp had it, or saw the fly paper. TOO OPTEN THE OTHER SIDE OP “ THE ETERNAL QUESTION.” 4 WHERE JOKES COME IN. it had Mr. Gimp. It lay along his hand, and along the newspaper, and along his bare arm. It looked like a warrior’s shield. Mr. Gimp stood and puffed malevolently. “There!"’ he cried angrily. ‘‘Now I hope you are satisfied! Now I hope’’—— He stopped short. The fly, coming out of the gloom at the other end of the room, made straight for him. It hesi- tated, paused, and gently dropped to the small space of stickiness on the fly paper that Mr. Gimp was not occupying. It put six feet in it, and lay down and glued itself fast. For a moment Mr. Gimp glared at it. “There!” he said triumphantly. “When I exterminate flies, I exter- minate ’em, I do!" By the Roadside. Twilight softly fell, and found us I should hesitate to guess Really just how far from Gotham— Eighty miles, it seemed, not less! Truly, we were gayly speeding, Rapidly we flew along; On and on for miles we motored, Until—something went dead wrong! Bang! That’s short, you know, for “‘blow-out.’” Lengthy wait, it means, beside (and a little calm reflection). Even so—who would not ride? —Elizabith Penn Thorne. A Consoling Possibility. “ WOMAN should not expect to re- tain her appearance indefinitely.’” “She should not expect it; but some- times it is the unexpected that happens.’” —l comicbooks.com