Judge — December 6, 1913 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

‘THE MIDNIGHT hour, by all the clocks, was struck, and I arose, to fill the sleeping children’s socks with toys and things like those. My wife, in tragic tones, exclaimed, ‘‘Now, get things rightly fixed! Last Christmas I was badly shamed, the way you got things mixed; for Ann got Freddie’s rubber ball, which made them both complain, and Willie got the speak- ing doll that should have gone to Jane. I hope that you will use your head about these Christmas chores, and when you do come back to bed, please try to can the snores.’’ The house was cold and densely dark as I went on my way, with hobby horse and Noah’s ark and treasures from Cathay. I knew just where the stockings lay, there in the sitting-room, and thought that I could find my way in any sort of gloom; but all the furniture had moved from its accustomed place—a rocker, richly carved and grooved, flew up and hit my face. A lounge that always hitherto had stood against the wall, showed all the wrestling tricks it knew and from me tooka fall. I sat me down among the wreck of wooden toys and things and murmured huskily, ‘‘By heck!"’ and, furthermore, ‘‘By jings!’’ I rose, with forehead cold and damp, and life seemed bleak and drab; and then the blamed old hanging lamp got in a short- arm jab. It gave my ear an ugly paste, there in the shrouding dark, and I sat down again in haste upon the Noah’s ark. Again, undaunted, I arose, and then the bookcase came and biffed me once across the nose and climbed upon my frame. Though somewhat dazed, I said, ‘‘This stunt I once more will begin’’; and then the stove came up in front and kicked me on theshin. At last I found the socks; in these I placed the broken toys and hoped the wreckage still might please my little girls and boys. At morning, while in bed I lay, all mangled, bruised and torn, I heard my eldest, Willie, say, in tones of bitter scorn, “Oh, mother, don’t let Santa Claus come to this house again! He is the worst that-ever was—he’s vulgar and profane! Last night I lay awake in bed and heard him as he toiled, and nearly everything he said was over-ripe and spoiled. But why does father not come here to see my railway train?”’ And mother shed a gleaming tear and started to explain. “Your father heard that rude old jay who storms around and swears; he tried to drive the man away, and tumbled down the stairs.'” SNK Thoughts of a Young Benedick rs fh By TED ROBINSON sf z BOUT the funniest thing is the motherly ad- vice a young married woman gives to her old beaus. After a man has been married a while, things begin to look altogether different—especially his bank account. The reason bachelors make so many jokes about married life is that they are the only ones who see any fun in it. This would be a better world if the man who has been mar- ried one year would talk less about it and the man who has been married ten years would talk more about it. Women wouldn’t have so much trouble with men if they’d believe a little less of what a man says before marriage and a little more of what he says afterward. A man and his wife always think alike on one occasion, and that is when she wants money and he knows it, and both are thinking hard about what they'll say. The difference between a woman and a man is small. A woman can make a man do anything she wants him to, and a- man can make a woman do anything she wants to. A young married man soon gets used to referring to ‘‘my but it takes him a long time to introduce a girl as ‘‘my sister-in-law."’ Nothing Happened She sat beneath the mistletoe, Without the slightest fear; She felt no wild, glad tremor, though She knew he lingered near. She sat there calm and unafraid And sleepily he yawned, for they Been married for a year. SANTA HAS A FRIEND AT COURT The Court—What is the charge against this elderly gentleman ? Policeman—Unlawfal entry. Caught him coming out of a chimbley car- rying a bag. discharged ! The Court—Coming out? That 's not entry comicbooks.com