Judge — November 1, 1913 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

From a Sinner’s Diary ATTENDED a gathering of wom- en awhile ago. To be polite, it was fine; to be honest, part of it I liked and part of it was like a prayer meeting tome. The speaker told about the advantages of the honest, pure-minded old farmer, and mentioned the city woman as hav- ing to buy everything in a wilted and dislocated condition—‘‘buying a dozen eggs and finding half of them bad, maybe,” she said. “Some honest old farmer lugged them into town," I thought. Now, I myself am a pessimist as to farm- ers. For one thing, the way they work the roads has helped to con- vert me. A bridge or washout may over itin the night, not knowing, you might break ycur neck or your kingbolt; but they'll fall in on a decent piece of road with an old grader and stack up sods till you’re late to every appointment. Frank said he got religion at night, and the next morning it was so dark up-stairs he lost it trying to get both feet in one pant leg. I think it would be cute if I could get paa little salt cellar, 45-70 cali- ber, chambering 308 grains of salt, with a little trigger to pull and bang salt on his potato, and that. Wouldn’t he ‘‘wing’’ his pie, and make center shots in his tea, and shoot offhand at his butter, and with a rest at his pickle, till he’d eat so much salt he’d never be fresh again? THE HABIT “I say, Mabel, if we aren't going to buy anything let 's look at something more expensive THRIFT “That was a good idea of yours, 'Liza, combinin’ our weddin’ trip with bizness."* The other night when I came home a big brown bug lay in a saucer on his back by the lamp, pawing the airidiotically. It made me so mad to think a perfectly healthy and able-bodied bug didn’t know any more than that, that I took and dumped him in the swill pail, thinking that, if he was pining so for trouble, I'd see he had some that was real. With two oranges, a bag of wafersand three pints of brisk, hand-picked worms, Hyacinth—my black chum—and I went bullheading the other night. We brought home forty-eight to prove it. Don’t bullheads beat all to swallow ‘way back? I don’t know how many times I had to mine with my knife among their works to recover the hook. I could count my wounds and tell pretty near, for each one stabbed me from eleven to eighteen times, Rooney remarked while we ate supper that the mosquitoes were the worst things about bullheads, and Hyacinth went on to tell what she'd suffered and endured while fishing. After Rooney went out, I said, ‘‘Why, they didn’t bother me like you let on “They didn’t me, either,’’ she an- swered; ‘‘I just told her that to be sociable."’ If pa is going to town alone, he togs all up and sits in front of Ambrose’s; but if mais going, too, he wears his same old breeches and loppy hat and goes and talks bear traps and ‘‘soigns”” with Ike Norton, Wouldn't it be tedious without the I couldn't stand it. Unstudied Louwise—Does your husband treat you with a studied indifference? " Julia—No; his unconcern is quite natural. devil? Lynette Freemire comicbooks.com