Judge — August 2, 1913 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

Making Friends with Dynamite NEW explosive has just been discov- ered that is ten times more powerful than dynamite. It consists of a mixture of lampblack and liquid gas. As far as we are personally concerned, common, every-day dynamite has filled all the demands that we have ever made on “ WE NOTICED THE CABIN WASN'T WHERE WE HAD LEFT IT” it. Dynamite is a most determined sub- stance. Dynamite cares naught for who is around, treating rich and poor, high and low, alike; but, some way or other, it usually selects a poor man with a large family. Once it makes up its mind to go off, there is no staying it. The wise person is the one who goes off first. The person who lingers and tries to reason with dynamite will rue it. His friends usually have to be called in to help with the rueing. Once we got a small stick of dynamite and took it into the woods, where we were camping, to kill . We took a piece of the dynamite into our wooden shanty, put it into a cup of water, and set the cup on the stove to thaw out the dynamite. Then we went down the river to invite a friend to come and partake of the fish with us. On rounding the bend, coming back, we noticed that the cabin wasn’t where we had left it. Then we noticed that it was several yards in the air. We could not place the trouble, but intuition told us that all was not well. We sur- mised at once that something was wrong. Then the sound waves reached us and knocked us both down, We picked our- selves up and hurried to where the cabin had once stood. A few shingle nails and the right foreleg of the cook stove were all that remained to show that the water had boiled dry. My new pair of suspend- ers were gone, with not one thread of them left to tell the tale. I mourned my loss keenly, for they were buttoned to my Sunday trousers, Before thawing out dynamite, you should always leave all valuables at a safe-deposit vault and the name of the nearest relative pinned to a tree. If any of our readers are going to use any of this new lampblack and liquid gas ex- plosive to kill fish, we ear- nestly advise them to handle it with care and add water accordingly. Bovine Ethics WE SEE that a prominent scientific farmer is ad- vocating that a cow should be treated asalady. But what is a person to do when he is going across the field and is charged by her husband? We instinctively feel that we wouldn’t treat him as a gentleman. We feel that we would be more apt to try to cow him with a club. “Cow him with a club!’’ Isn’t that a bull? The Retired Blacksmith and the Athletic Ghost PROFESSOR at the Bos- ton Institute of Technol- ogy has discovered that ghosts are due to bad air. He says that carbon monoxide poison- ing gives the illusion of walk- ing spirits. We do not altogether agree ith the professor. We re- member when we were young and freckled, out in Missouri, that we once met a ghost that wasn’t made of bad air. A man living outside our town each sum- mer raised watermelons. He was a large, able-bodied man who had retired from the profession of blacksmithing to indulge in gardening. One night, when the moon was in its infancy, the editor of this page and an- other boy went walking with a gunny- Oh, oh, oh! sack over our shoulders. Suddenly we found ourselves in the blacksmith’s melon patch, We could not account for this, We had been walking along talking, and when we looked up we were surrounded by melons, We went on talking to each other in whispers, until the first thing we knew two melons were in our gunnysack. This mystified us more than ever, and we thought we would withdraw to some quiet spot, get out our knives, and try to solve the mystery. As we were shamefacedly withdrawing, a large, well-built ghost rose up before us, dressed in white. We noticed a peculiar thing about the ghost —it was carrying a shawl strap. As we did not know the ghost, we thought we would leave. The ghost lunged at us and grabbed us both. It placed one of us on the ground and held that one there with its knee, while it used the shawl strap on the other in a very material way. You would never have known that it was a ghost by the way it used the shawl strap. The ghost acted more as if it were used to an anvil. Once, right in the midst of using the shawl strap, the ghost stopped and spit on its hands. It had low habits, but we did not reprove it. Finally we wriggled out and got away. Strange as it may seem, after that we “THE GHOST WAS CARRYING A SHAWL STRAP” lost all taste for watermelons after dark, and even the sight of a shawl strap in daytime made us sick. The Boston professor can talk up his bad-air theory of ghosts all that he wants to, but he needn't expect us to believe it —especially if the ghost is addicted to the shawl-strap habit. comicbooks.com