Judge — October 19, 1912 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

Patron (to very slow waiter) WANTED TO HEAR FROM HIM Bring me soree salad, please. And you might just send mea post card every now and then while you 're away.” Respectfully Solicited. EVERYBopy in the congregation of the little church at Grassdale was much excited when the distinguished- looking stranger entered the building and, with considerable impressiveness of manner, walked down the middle aisle and seated himself in the front pew. He looked like a composite of Uncle John D. Reddymun and the lamented Mr. Midas, of mythological fame. Es- pecially were the members of the church pleased at the advent of one so appar- ently prosperous at that particular time, for this was the day for the annual ap- peal for funds to pay the minister's salary and current expenses of the church. Not that the congregation was poor, but that it liked to share its responsibilities with others in that true Christian spirit that is often found in rural communities. Mr. Plugley, the pastor, alive to his opportunity, made the most of it and put vastly more fervor into s appeal than ever before, there- by winning the approval of those whose pursestrings were trembling nervously over the general outlook, as well as that of the distinguished- looking stranger, who, leaning for- ward in his pew, seemed to drink in with avidity and admiration every word that Mr. Plugley spoke. Then the contribution plate was passed, and necks were craned everywhere in the sanctuary, ex- pectancy being raised to the nth power by the pleasing spectacle of the stranger taking a folded piece of paper from his pocket and dropping it in the plate, after writing on it with his fountain pen. Surely here must be a generous contribu- tion, for one such as he, had he been so minded, could easily have dropped in a coin instead of a check; and the pastor, anxious to learn how much, hastened the Ye LEXINGTON= Iz JOHNNIE JONES'S SOLILOQUY. “Gee! I wish I had a history that would repeat itself."” service a bit and, in announcing the clos- ing hymn, called for only two verses in- stead of five—a thing unprecedented in the history of the institution. The service over, the deacons hastened to the vestry-room to count up, and, once seated, the pastor himself seized the slip of paper with trembling hands. ‘‘How much, brother?” asked Hiram Wiggles. The pastor’s face fell as he read as follow: “Gentlemen—I see you have no light- ning rods upon this church. As the agent of the Neverstruck All-steel Rod, I respectfully solici But he got no further. To a man, the deacons had van- ished in a mad pursuit of the iniqui- tous intruder, who was himself compelled to vanish surreptitiously under cover of darkness later on, to avoid a thunderbolt so righteous that no rod in creation could have averted disaster. A Dream. He had a dream, a joyous dream, That thrilled him to the soul: He stood, with a receipted bill, And watched a row of wagons fill His cellar full of coal! The man who talks all day and then snores all night is a domes- tic tragedy. comicbooks.com