Judge — February 21, 1914 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

Lost Inspiration I" WAS the dejected appearance of Loftus Brough, the poet, that caused his friend Hemmandhaw to offer solicitations. “Don’t try to sympathize with me, old boy,’’ groaned Brough. “I don’t think I will ever be myself again!’’ ‘*What seems to be the trouble?’’ ‘‘Last night, as I lay in bed half asleep, I was suddenly inspired with one of the most glorious ideas that ever popped into the head of mortal man. Knowing that the thoughts which come to aman in that state of mind are more fleeting than dreams, I determined to impale the idea at once. In the dark I groped for my pad and pencil, and, in feverish haste, wrote page after page of spark- ling lines. At last, utterly fatigued, but triumphant in the ac- complishment of a wonderful work, I sank back into slumber.’’ “But what has all this’’- “Hear me out, my friend, then pity me. In the morning, when I hurried to the light to scan the product of my inspira- tion, I nearly dropped to the floor in a faint. The pages were entirely blank.”” “1 don’t understand that.”’ “Neither did I until I investigated; then I found I had done all the writing with a patent pencil my wife had given me for a present, and the doggone thing didn’t have a blamed bit of lead in it.’” —Charles A. Leedy. Humiliating Harry—I understand Gertrude Gadalotte married a man who made a big fortune by a lucky speculation in soap. Grace—Yes; and he disgraced her while they were on their honeymoon, Harry —How did he do it? Grace—Gertrude wanted the other passengers to think an ocean voyage was an old story to them, when her husband, the first crack out of the box, pointed to a row of life preservers and asked the captain what was the idea of all the extra tires. Come Again, Reggie ! Reggie—So, by way of ‘breaking the ice, I remarked that the.weather was very cold. Henry—Well, and what did she reply? Reggie—She said, ‘‘The recurring phenomena of heat’ and cold are so frequent and so familiar as to be matters too negligible to engage my interest, Mr. Riskey.’’ Henry—That all! The Proper Place She—Have you heard about the pretty actress who wore a bird painted on her cheek? He—Yes; and I wondered why she didn’t have it painted on her back, where it would have plenty of room to fly. Sereer ely Gy ington HERE was a wee babe in Duluth Had just cut his first little tooth; Ma thought him a wonder, Dad cried, thunder, My son has ne’er told an untruth!" Margaret G. Hays. “And by GOLD BRICKS by Walt Mason 'OUNG Jack goes forth to call on Rosé, attired in gorgeous raiment (and for that gaudy suit of clothes the tailor seeks his payment); his teeth are scoured, his shoes are shined, the barber man’s been active—in sooth, it’s hard to call to mind a fellow more attractive. And Rose is waiting at the gate, as blithely Jack advances; she has her angel smile on straight, and charming are her glances. She’s spent at least a half a day (to temper’s sore abrasion) to get herself in brave array, in shape for this occa- sion. All afternoon, with patient care, she tried on heaps of dresses; her gentle mother heard her swear while combing out her tresses. But now, as lovely as the day, with trouble un- acquainted, she looks as though she grew that way and never puffed or painted. . And so they both, on dress parade, sit down within the arbor, she well upholstered by her maid, he scented by his barber. They talk of painters, Spanish, Dutch; they talk of Keats and Dante—for whom they do not care as much as does your maiden auntie. Now Jack is down upon his knees! By jings! he is proposing! His vows, a-floating on the breeze, his ardor are disclosing! And Rose! Her bliss is now begun—she’s made her little capture. Oh, chee! two hearts that beat as one, and all that sort of rapture! And there is none to say to Rose, ‘‘Don’t rush into a mar- riage! You're getting but a suit of clothes, some gall, a princely carriage! This man upon whose breast you lean too often has a jag on; he couldn’t buy the gasoline to run your chug-chug wagon! Of tawdry thoughts he is the fount; his heart is cold and stony. He’s ornery and no account; his stately front is phoney! He owes for all the duds he wears, for all the grub he’s swallowed, and at his heels, on streets and stairs, the bailiffs long have followed!’’ And there is none to say to Jack, ‘‘Don’t wed that dazzling maiden! You think that down a starry track she slid to you from Aidenn; but she is selfishness boiled down—as mother oft discovers—and in the house she wears a frown; she keeps her smiles for lovers. She never did a useful thing or had a thought uplifting, and ere she gets you on her string, look out where you are drifting !’’ There’s none who dares to tell the truth or point the proper courses, so foolish maid weds foolish youth, and then we have divorces! comicbooks.com