Judge — October 18, 1913 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

ined ent | ‘The Outeast Pa By Wait Mason ‘OU MEET him in the forest, you meet him in the town; and, feeling at your sorest, you long to knock him down. You have a wish to take him across your knees and break him, tie him in knots and shake him, and bash him on the crown. You meet him in the taxis, you meet him in the jail; he holds you with his wax eyes and tries to tell his tale; but ere he gets to speaking, you flee, profanely shrieking, some quiet refuge seeking, where he can’t hit your trail. You meet him in the hallways and in the clanging mart, and everywhere and always he breaks your aching heart. In vain you try to crush him, in vain you ‘‘pish’’ and ‘‘tush’’ him, in vain you strive to hush him and beg him to depart. It is his wild endeavor (and will be till he’s dead) to tell you of the clever, bright things his Willie said—his sweet, precocious Willie, who drives the whole world silly. He'll tell you, willy-nilly, till you are seeing red. “At breakfast time this morning,’’ the outcast parent sighs, ‘‘without a bit of warning, my Willie ups and cries’’— But ere he can unravel the tale, you hit the gravel; with fran- tic speed you travel, in which you're surely wise. . All rough and dark. and hilly, the outcast parent's road. His yarns of little Willie he scarcely can unload; for people turn their faces and hit the higher places when with his tales he chases forth from his grim abode. So total is his blindness, he does not understand why there’s no human kindness for him in all the land. He wonders why we shun him and show desire to gun him, and sometimes try to stun him with words that should be canned. He finds the whole world chilly, and still he tries to tell the things that little Willie gets off so passing well. His game’s not worth the candle; we hold him as a vandal, and wildly yearn to handle an old-time chestnut bell! Not Even To Save Her Soul! Rector—I have missed you from the church services since you received your uncle’s legacy. You surely cannot mean to desert our fold? Mrs. Ships Inne—Why, I'm simply obliged to, Mr. Surplis! I love the church, but now that I have my gowns from Paris, I can’t get down on my knees to save my soul! Enough for Him It was in the smoking-room at the club. The talk, as usual, had drifted around to the eternal feminine. The younger men were baiting Crabbleigh, the incurable bachelor. “Do you think,” said one, ‘‘that after a girl has been taken to a good show, given candy and flowers and treated to a good supper, she ought to have the fellow kiss her good-night?"’ “T should think he’d done enough for her,’’ growled Crab- bleigh. Latest News from Hogwallow, Ky. R4z BARLOW got down off of the fence yesterday to leta lizard by. The editor of the Tickville Tidings says, if he oan get a few more negroes to subscribe, he will run a colored supplement every week, Fletcher Henstep has ordered a pair of shoes from a whole- sale house in St. Louis. They wanted his size, and he has forwarded them two of his tracks. Miss Flutie Belcher fell from her mule while en route to a musical entertainment, Tuesday, and knocked the breath out of her accordion. Miss Hostetter Hocks spent Friday afternoon in the Gander Creek woods, communing with Nature. As usual, she did all the talking. The Hog Ford Baptist Church will hold a social next third Saturday night. A large gathering is expected, as this is in celebration of the twenty-first anniversary of the congrega- tion’s attempt to pay off the church debt. Slim Pickers went over into the Bounding Billows community the other day and returned with a whistle, which he took off of an old sawmill. steam, he would blow it. He says, if he had some way to get up —George Bingham, Defended “All scientists are minus a sense of humor." “Nonsense! | Didn’t they call this the temperate zone?” NUMEROUS RELATIVES “Look. mother { There goes a lot of cook's cousins, ” comicbooks.com