Judge — November 23, 1912 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

THE YOUNG IDEA. “Look, Pop, at the funny turkey feather I found."* That 's not a turkey feather, sonny. That is a peacock’s feather."” “A peacock? Why, I thought it was from a turkey in full bloom !'* A Honeymoon Incident. By J. A, WALDRON. The bridegroom, after the ardent and prolonged greet- ing usual in such cases ever since primitive man brought home his grub on his back or in one hand while the other carried his rude weapon, inspected the dinner table with something that resembled hunger, superficial as hunger HE NEWLY married man was at home at last. It was a cozy flat, this home, with a real kitchen, not amere kitchenette cut off by a screen or curtains and interfering with the ostensible purpose of the room, Still, it must be written in truth that the kitchen was not large. Two persons might occupy it at once, un- less they were engaged in a conversation that required Delsartian gesture. The newly married man had telephoned repeatedly since three o'clock p. m., correcting the time he would arrive to a minute, as nearly as he could calculate it, allowing so many minutes for his walk to the train, and so many minutes for the movement of the train between the given points. He lived near the elevated and knew he could make the distance from the station to the flat in fifty-four seconds by his watch, as he was a sprinter. He found his bride blushingly happy, with a pretty apron covering her elaborate house gown and just a hint of perspiration on her brow. Running to the telephone now and then while preparing dinner had conspired with her natural enthusiasm over her first real meal at home to induce perspira- tion, even though the weather outside was not warm. In addition to the calls from the bride- groom, she had insinuated several to this trades- man and that for edible things forgotten in her hasty though dreamy marketing. commonly is in the honeymoon. The table was bright with new silver and enticing with fresh napery—loot saved from a multitude of wedding gifts, many of which, redundant or lacking utility, had been piled away in one of the tiny closets of the place. Hunger was forgotten for a moment while he again took her in his arms and told her how happy he was that he had won such a prize. As he sat down, he noted with no misgiving various dishes which in substance and garnishing spelled the word ‘‘Delicatessen’’ almost as plainly as it was spelled on windows on the avenue. But he loved his bride and was proud of her and knew she would be equal to any domestic emergency that the future might hold. His love was spurred ashe picked up a warm biscuit and, parting it, spread golden butter be- tween its sections. ‘‘Darling,’’ he cried, as he tasted the biscuit, ‘‘this is even better than the biscuits mother used to make!"’ “Is it, dearest?” the bride happily ex- claimed. ‘I’m so glad! I got them at the baker’s!"’ comicbooks.com