Judge — March 2, 1912 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

NEARLY CORRECT. ook at the airyplane, Josh !"* I think they call ‘em."’ An Up-to-date Reason. By CHARLES C. JONES CANNOT sing the old songs— The songs of long ago; My heart cries out for bold songs— Familiar songs, I know. But I don’t sing them ever, All blissful as of yore; From them I’m forced to sever, And thus it is I never Poetically soar. For Phyllis dotes on flying, And so, with head awhirl, I see—all else denying— The aviator girl. But lest, where wings are sting- ing, She fly from me some day, I’m forced to cease all singing And learn to do my winging In the new-fashioned way! Cursory. A huntsman called on Hodge to settle for damage done by a run to hounds, and found only Mrs, Hodge at home. “Has your husband,’’ he in- quired, ‘‘m de an examination yet?” “That he have, sir!’’ replied Mrs. Hodge, with a curtsey. “Rather a cur:ory examina- tion, I suspect?”" “Oh, dreadful, sir! Such lang- widge I never heerd—never!"’ And the good woman held up her hands at the bare recollection. ‘ain't no airyplane, Ezek; one o' them incorrigibles, Definitions. Weather — A convenient handle with which to take hold of a conversation. Collar Button—The pivot around which a man’s toilet revolves. Sausage—The link be tween man and beast. Corsets—The straight and narrow way. Ragtime Music—The uni- versal slanguage of man- kind. A Woman's Hotel—A hen- coop. Thoughts—Things for which we would be arrested if they were known. 1912 Weddings— Examples of the efficiency of leap year. Vaudeville—The hash of the dramatic bill of fare. Foods—Groundlings with aeroplane ambitions. Spring—-The muzzle sea- son for young poets. Age—The sediment clogging the pipes of the fountain of youth. Newspaper Enterprise. City editor—‘‘Hi, Sims!"" Sims (the reporter)—‘‘ Yes, sir.’* City editor—Go down t> the hotel and interview that magnate and get his denial of the interview at the same time. Scoot, now!’’ “OH, MAMMA! HERE COMES A SANDWICH.” An Elaborate Dinner. ‘*Was it an elaborate dinner?”’ ‘Plenty of champagne?”’ “Flowed just like water. But that wasn't the chief display.’” “That so? Were the favors unusual?”’ “They were of solid gold. But what really attracted the most attention was that there seemed to be an unlimited supply of butter.’” Sonnet to My Waiter. Oh, minion, fleet as Mercury of old, Who greetest me with smile and scrape and bow, Thou art a man of mighty skill, I vow; Insistent, yet not freshly over- bold. Thou sayest, ‘‘You really that must choose, And this to-day is cooked ex- tremely well’’; And, though my eye on cheaper eats would dwell, I dare not thy suggestions to re- fuse. I would not have a waiter think me small Or well-nigh broke, for then, mayhap, he’d sneer Behind my back. I have a mor- tal fear Of waiters’ scorn. I can’t stand that at all. Come here, garcon; you’ve really served me right. Please take this tip. (I'll foot it home to-night!) “This is a dead beat,’’ said the cop, as he made the rounds of the cemetery. And it came to pass that the graves yawned. comicbooks.com