Judge — July 6, 1912 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

acce/erando THE SOCIAL * * 667 'LL niver again <S come up Wool- * xx sey Street!’’ said Dennis O’Rafferty in fiery wrath to Hannah Flah “*Moind that! Niver again to ‘2: “That suits me,’’ responded Hannah, moving away, her head lifted. “Unliss,"" pursued Dennis, as a clincher, ‘‘it skiddoos to some other parts.”” Perhaps it will do that for yees! retorted Hannah disdainfully, but with a sinking heart. Dennis was a man of his word. The mistress of the fateful number next morning looked into the kitchen. **Do I smell the bread burning? Oh, Hannah, you've quarreled with Dennis again!" The queenly maid was in tears. ‘It it wuz a kiss,’’ she sobbed resentfully. “‘A kiss! I shouldn't think that need use a quarrel."” “And it did shure,’’ quoth Hannah, drying her tears with a lofty sniff. **He’s not to kiss me unless I say, an’ he tuk it. Niver again will I speak!’” she cried passionately. ‘He'll hear me kape sthill.”” But that afternoon the mistress, hear- ing Hannah making a noise, impatiently By Mr H.C. CHADWICK, sought the reason, sighing because of lovers’ tiffs. The girl, the image of an ancient Celtic ruler, stood in the middle of the kitchen. Her work gown of red calico was certainly too short for the mode, yet quaintly becoming; her black coat—she had evidently been out—a neat-looking garment. Her hat, beyond criticism because much misshapen as from rough treatment, was receiving, as the lady entered, a vicious kick. “Oh,” cried Hannah, at sight of her, “that 1 should have the mean luck to meet Dinnie, driving his tipcart, in this old dress!"’ pathetically holding out the scant folds. ‘‘In this old coat!"’—the garment received a mauling. ‘‘In this’’ —away it went across the kitchen again —‘‘old hat!"" Hannah tore her hair and wept. “It seems you do relent, after all,” said the mistress. ‘‘No’’—as the front bell rang—‘‘you needn't go; it’s only the man altering the street numbers. The city has ordered it done."’ . . . . . . Sunday afternoon, a repentant Dennis O’Rafferty, attempting to make no sac- rifice of the dignified, strolled very slowly up Woolsey Street. ‘'I said,’’ he murmured, ‘‘I'd niver agin come to 23,” unliss the number skiddooed to other SERV EBUG il —aavy Sone SCALE. The Skiddooing of “23.” Prep telee parts." He smiled sorrowfully at the de + hopeless case of ¥ * this insane notion, but paused as he approached the house, his mouth unbecomingly opén in amazed joy. The door number read, ‘‘15""! Awaking to the Fact. A firecracker struck him full and square, A rocket struck him in the same plump way, A stout’torpedo struck him; then and there It struck him that 'twas quite a holi- day! : Smoke and Fire. The Americans are’ forever on the go; there are candles, too, that are always roamin’. The brave soldier faces the powder, and the lady he adores— We really find it hard to say it. The pistol takes the chief part in the dramatic story on the morning after; it was bound to make a hit. Because a man has a bullet head it doesn't make it easier for him to make his mark in the world. —wathan Mt. Levy. leet * [ qT ted HIS 136rn BIRTHDAY. comicbooks.com