Judge — September 2, 1911 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

E HAVE WITH US TO-NIGHT By HOMER CROY. BASS, ROBERT P.—The best-looking unmarried man in the Amalgamated Brotherhood of Governors is Robert P. Bass, of New Hampshire. He is thirty-seven, has an automobile, and likes to cook his own breakfast. For full particulars and a photograph, address Lock Box 223, Peterboro, N. H. His father was manager of - Abraham Lincoln's second political campaign, and while he was in that section of the country Robert Per- kins was born in Chicago. Before the boy was cognizant of his catastrophe or culpable for his condition he was rushed away to the old ancestral home at Peterboro, Leaving Harvard, he became a’ representative and soon the royal gubernatorial robes were thrown over his shoulders and hooked up the back for an indefinite term. During his campaign for the governorship he traveled four thousand miles in his auto, flinging out speeches with three- color lithographed climaxes and fourteen-by-twenty perora- tions, and pasting appeals for righteousness and reform on barns and crossroads blacksmith shops until it looked as if Forepaugh & Sells Brothers had passed that way. All he had to do was to hold up his right hand and place his left in the small of his back and the and raises Jerseys. His worse fault is getting up early, and especially on a farm in the winter time. Phcebus hardly ever "gins to crack his rattan on his terrestrial trip before Bass is out and throwing salt in the cinders for the hogs. PLAISTED, FREDERICK W.—Frederick W. Plaisted, who sits with one hand on the bridge and the other on the pon- mel of Maine's gubernatorial saddle, belongs to a family which has a corner on Democratic saddles. His father, thirty years ago, wore the chaps and the gauntlets of the Democratic donkey, and to-day Frederick W. has the reins pulled tight and his knees clamped in. There has been no Democratic rider in the interim. He is ‘‘Colonel”’ or ‘*Fred’’ to every man in Maine, and the only native-born inhabitant who ever Mistered him was ridden out of town ona rail and his children were slighted and held back in the public schools. The Governor knows the first name and what the middle letter stands for of every voter in Maine, and can ask a friend of the cause how his rheumatiz or his son at college is getting along and at the same time be thinking if Roger Bresnahan will really get away with it. In his campaign for Governor he spoke from three to six times daily for two months, oratory mill would begin to rumble. His fad is forestry and every time the woodman has to cut down a tall spruce, a stripling hemlock, a tower- ing oak or a spreading chest- nut (what would we do with- out our poets?) he goes out, puts his arms around it and sobs like Chauncey Olcott at the end of the second act. He isa great mountain climb- er, and putting on a stout pair of outing shoes and a care- free expression he will be off over the Monadnock range like a motorcycle, to be gone for days at a time, only to come back to see about turn- ing his cows into the fur medder. He lives on the family estate, which consists of more than a thousand acres, Fi AT A SAFE DISTANCE. Father—“' Come, here, sonny, I want to talk to you.'’ Son—"' I "Il talk to you over the "phone, pa." working down two reporters until they got to writing on their pillowslips at night. He was sheriff of Kennebec County for two years, and now his hand is quicker than the eye; if out alone at night and approached by a foot- pad the Governor has the drop on him before he knows it ‘with a balanced sentence, a six-shot apostrophe and a chilled-steel peroration. To the people of Maine he is a Barnum headliner, a Bosco- eats-em-alive, for some of the old inhabitants around Kittery, (which abounds in old inhabitants), in speak- ing of a Democratic Gover- nor, are still vumming and vowing up and down there ain’t no such man. comicbooks.com