Judge — October 4, 1913 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

TWO GUESSES Matron—Baby is crying, Mary. I expect he wants his botile Mary—I just give it to 'm mum. Matron—Did you? Then I expect he doesn’t want it."’ Post-card « Bromides” JN THE corrupt language of our mod- ern, patent-medicined, narrow-skirted world, the word ‘‘bromide’’ has lost its m chemi-medical meaning { SS and come to mean ‘‘an ex- ~~ pression, once live enough Dae for a taxi, now hack- neyed.”” até It was that ancient § maker of history, Herod- = otus, who originated the “‘post-card brand”’ of bro- mides, when he mailed his old crony, C. J. Cesar, a panoramic view of the Sea- breeze Hotel, at Cape Pleasure, Kan., with this message written beneath it: “‘Having the time of my life. Wish you were with us. The X marks our room.”” Since that eventful date, the drug- store market has been flooded with photo-engravures of the moss-covered tombs of the early cliff dwellers, the Easter rabbit hauling gaudily tattooed eggs in a pink wheelbarraw, and count- less other entertaining and educational views. Each corner store stands out as an oasis for the letter-dry traveler, com- pelled to acquaint a solicitous mother-in- law of his whereabouts, or to the five- dollar-a-week ribbon clerk, desirous of making an impression upon the girls at home. The commercial traveler, flushed with the effects of recent sales and escorted by two fellow-enthusiasts, boisterously purchases a view of the City Library or the Evangelical Church and writes his helpmate as follows: ‘I think of you often. It is so lonely here.” The girl so thin that she could crawl down a phonograph horn to find out who is singing selects a hand-tinted view of the city scales and writes her doting mother: ‘‘Wonderful weather. I sleep under blankets every night. Have gained four pounds,.’’ The two stenographers, spending a week's vacation (2 a town ten miles distant, send their ‘‘young men friends’’ a view of the moon- light on the lagoon in River- side Park, with. this message inscribed just below the sil- very waters: ‘‘Ain’t this moonlight swell? This town has the grandest parks!"’ Thus we might go on for- ever—for each genus hominis has a corresponding genus postcardiensis, and “‘by a man’s post-card, so shall ye know him.’’ But we cannot close without a mention of those youthful pests who mail their admiring sweethearts at home a post-card rose, made more realistic by a cotton- batting stuffing and more sen- timental by some such poem as: “The rose is red, but I am blue; My heart has bled all week for you.”” . Charles Andreve Merz. Youson—Sure. A Glossary of Automobile Terms OY ride—Honeymoon trip. Too much play at the wheel—Deaq broke at Monte Carlo. Filling the cooler—‘‘Running in” the drunks. Shock absorber—Clergyman in Paris, Buying gas—Paying your lawyer. A foot brake—Stepping on the debu- tante’s train. Putting up the top—Pawning your silk hat. A blow-out—Soffragette released from 5 ail. Wind shield—A gag for Senators. Feed pipe—A free lunch. Cutting out the muffler—Starting a home-made Christmas present for hubby. The cooler fan —The rooter who bought @ grand-stand seat. Left-hand drive—When his sweetheart sits at his right in the buggy. Universal clutch—The love of mammon. Crank up—Anarchist hanged. Testing the sparker—Standing under the mistletoe. Trouble with the ignition— Bridget drops a lighted match in the kerosene. Safety tread—Entering home at two a.m. in stocking feet.—Gorham W. Harris. Apropos of the preserving season, there is considerable jam to be had at the Brook- lyn bridge. A LITTLE DIALECT You don't mean t say th’ boss's son bane in prison? I hear d’ boss say he bane in Yale thre year comicbooks.com