Judge — December 23, 1911 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

NOTHING TO WEAR. Montmorency’s Misfit Christmas. “How'd his whiskership treat you?"’ asked Timmie Brady, the news- boy. ‘What'd yuh git fer Christmas?" “To put it in plain, rough language,"’ replied William de Puyster Montmorency, “I got the hooks,’” “Chee,’’ chuckled Timmie. ‘‘Sore as a boil, ain't you? Better lance it, Bill, an’ let de pizen outa yer system. I got time t’ listen t’ yer tale 0’ woe before I mosey ’long to keep me appointment t’ lunch wit’ Taft an’ de British Embassa- dor.’’ Since the day he had blacked the Montmorency eyes and rubbed the arist- ocratic nose in the dirt Tim had taken a comradely interest in the poor little rich boy. “You see,’’ said William,, who had evaded his tutor and come down to Tim's corner solely to unburden his mind, “father and mother had to go and get sick the day before Christmas with some- thing catching, so I was sent to Aunt Nancy's in the country.”’ “Yuh has me sympathy, pal.’ Tim tendered a grimy hand. ‘‘I wuz out in de rhubarban districk once. It’s fierce."’ “Aunt Nancy said she would give me an old-fashioned Christmas. Really, Tim, a man can’t talk about a woman, you know, but it was’’-—— William coughed delicately. “Uh-huh; dots and dashes,’’ assented ‘Vim understandingly. By TERRELL LOVE HOLLIDAY. “First, she tried to put over that cld Santa Claus gag: made me hang up my stocking and go to bed at eight o'clock. Just fawncy!’” “An? yuh goin’ on twelve years!” ejaculated Tim. “And then, thinking I'd be crazy to see what Santa Claus had brought, she called me at five o'clock. Imagine! And I’m cross all day when my morning nap is spoiled.’’ “Shure,"’ agreed the newsy. ‘‘I couldn't sell a double-murder extra if me valley woke me before five-t’ir- ty in de mornin’.”’ I protested that it lacked three hours of my time for rising, but Aunt Nancy looked so hurt I had to get up. She’s a good soul."” “Yep. Them’s de kin’ dat drives us men t’ drink.”” “I slipped into my dressing gown and went down to look at my things. Of course I knew it was all a frost, but I had no idea—excuse me.’ William leaned against the fire-alarm box. ‘I’m almost overcome at the recollection."” “Buck up,”’ urged Tim. ‘‘De woist is yet t’ come, as de wife-beater said w’en he broke his cane an’ went after a bed-slat t’ finish de job.’” _ “The first thing I took out of that stocking was a red tin trumpet. Fawn- cy! And I gave my _ silver-mounted cornet to the butler because I don’t care for such things. Next, I drew a toy music box that played ‘The Last Rose of Summer.’ Imagine that after listening to my one hundred and fifty-dollar gramo- phone, with grand opera records! Then there were gingerbread animals, nuts, raisins, and some mixed candy. And I never eat anything of the kind except marons glaces and Swiss milk chocolate, the imported. That American-made stuff is horrible. Last—brace yourself, Tim—a pair of red yarn mittens! Ugh, they made my flesh creep. I’ve worn nothing but Gautier’s, made in the Rue de la Paix, for years.’ “Yuh certainly wuz up against it,’” comicbooks.com