Judge — January 27, 1912 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

room like that! That isn’t the place for your jacket! I'd like toknow what the house would look like if I wasn’t particular! Stop jerking so at that shoe lace! I don’t care if it is ina hard knot. Jerking like that will only make the knot harder. Now, I knew that you would break that shoe lace! You would try the patience of—Wil- lie! You pick up that shoe and put it where it belongs at night! No, you cannot have something to eat before you go to bed. The ideaof it! After all the supper you had! What are you taking all of those things out of your pockets for? You put them right back! It would take a good hour to look over all of the things in your pockets. What under the sun, moon, and stars are you carrying around three dirty handkerchiefs for? And you were fussing yesterday because you couldn’t find a clean handker- chief! Now you hustle off to the bathroom and give those hands a good scrub- bing. You wish that you lived in a land where there wasn’t any water? How long do you think that you would live there? You give those hands a good scrubbing! Use plenty of soap. Be sure and wash back of your ears. Use plenty of water. I never saw such a boy as you are, to think that you can get yourself clean with half a teacup full of water. Your towel isn’t on its hook? I am sure that it isn't if you were the only one who used it last. Look for— And you call yourself washed already? Let me see your hands. Willie Smythe! The idea of you calling those hands washed! They will do for to-night, but you have simply got to wash yourself in dead earnest in the morning. I shall look after those ears myself then. Now you go to your room and to bed. It is a good three-quarters of an hour after your regular bedtime, and you know that mother always insists on you going to bed at exactly half-past eight, and the sooner you learn that you must mind your mother, the better, I don’t believe that you have been in bed at half-past eight for a month. You can’t find your nightgown? Judg- ing from the rest of the stuff in your pockets, perhaps your nightgown is there. No, you shall not go to bed with- out it. You'll find it somewhere in the closet in your room. You found it? I knew that you would. I want that mut- Drawn by Clyde Squires. She (at the piano) —'' How do you enjoy this re- frain He—'' Very much. The more you refrain the better I like it.” tering stopped! It's the tenth time to- night that I have told you to stop mut- tering, and you know that when mother speaks she has to be obeyed! Good- night, Willie! That's a pretty way to say good-night to your mother, isn’t it? You most certainly cannot take a book to bed with you for a little while! Burt Deane says he reads in bed every night? That is nothing tome. If his mother wants to let him do anything that foolish,she can; but your mother is not that kind of a woman. Get right into bed and put out that light. Such a time as I have getting you to bed every night, and I'll have a worse time getting you up in the morning. Got that light out? You'd better Stop that whistling! The idea of go- ing to bed and whistling! Good-night, Willie! Dear, dear! these boys! Those Little Things. Puny little high-brows, Little bigots, too, Only call for patience And a kind skiddoo. Decided. “T'd buy a car if it weren't for one thing.’” “What is that?" “Having to look out for the other fellow."” “But if you had a car, the other fel- low would have to look out for you, also.’’ “Gee! I never thought of that! I'll buy one.”” Leap Year. She—‘* Will you marry me?” He—‘‘You will have to ask father first.’’ She—‘'I did; but he refused me.’ The Woman of It. “Why do you spend your days and nights on these pictures?’’ asks the wife of the struggling artist. “You don’t get enough for them to pay you for the paint you use.”” “T know, my dear,’’ he answers; “but think! Rembrandt and others painted pictures and sold them for trifles, and they are now the master- pieces of the world and bring mil- lions of dollars! I am not painting for us. I am painting for our descend- ants."" “‘Humph!"’ is the discouraging re- ply. ‘You don’t make enough for us to afford to raise any descendan Aftermath. Ever since New Year's Day we have been in receipt of almost daily com- munications from Santa's twin brother, William Claus, better known to most of us as plain ‘‘Bill."” Model girls seldom serve as such. comicbooks.com