Judge — March 28, 1914 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

Muriel—Papa, did Augustus ask you for my hand last night? RIFTING in on the tide of humanity which swept cease- lessly through the revolving doors of Wetherbee’s Dry Goods and Notions Empori- um, an elderly individual, shabbily attired in a rusty black suit, addressed the nearest clerk, industriously refurbishing his stock of neckwear. “Young man,’ he directed, a trifle brusquely, ‘tbe so good as to tell me the location of the hardware counter.’’ Roland Rebinson, the neckwear sales- man thus ac:vsted, evidenced with most commendable alacrity his desire and will- ingness to serve the venerable visitor. Had the old gentleman’s apparel and ap- pearance been that of a prince, he could not have been more solicitous. It had ever been his disposition to be polite and attentive. Moreover, he recognized in the antiquated personage before him none other than Wellington J. Wetherbee him- self, owner of the massive establishment wherein Roland dispensed variegated four-in-hands to frenzied fashion follow- ers for a weekly emolument of eleven dollars. “Most certainly, sir,’”’ he replied, with JUST A SUGGESTION ' Its Usual Reward | } Ry EDWARD A. BAR. his wonted courtesy and just a hint of eagerness, visions of promotion to the dazzling heights of floorwalker dancing before hiseyes. ‘‘Three counters to your left; then back to the rear. If you will permit me to direct you’’—— “Tush, tut! Never mind the directing! Just stay behind your counter and wait upon that gentleman,’’ broke in his in- quirer testily. ‘‘You have made yourself quite clear.’” And he stumped away through the full- laden labyrinths of counters and shelves, until at length he diverted the attention being paid a red-covered novel by the debonair youth who presided over the affairs of the department in question, Oliver Spokewell by name. “Ahem! Sir, do you have blind fix- tures?”’ he demanded. “Why, sir,’’ replied Oliver crisply but pleasantly, little dreaming the identity of the eccentric and somewhat crotchety Dad—Why, no. He talked quite sensibly. baron of the retail district, ‘‘as to that, I don’t suppose any of our fixtures can really see, although some of our screws have eyes.”’ (Here the artist commissioned to do the illustrating evolves a mental outline of Oliver dejectedly applying for his fare- well pay check at the cashier’s cage. But stay.) “Well, well!’’ quoth the old gentle- man, with twinkling eyes, keenly appre- ciative of so ready a rejoinder. ‘‘Young man, I’ve been looking for a secretary and traveling companion, and I think you'll do. We start next week on a Med- iterranean cruise. Call at my office to- morrow and we will arrange the neces- sary details.’’ o 8 © «© © 6 Oliver is to-day junior partner and gen- eral manager at Wetherbee’s, and his bouncing two-year-old heir, Wellington J., is the grandson of the firm’s senior member and founder. Roland, the reader will be glad to know, is still snugly en- sconced in his post at the neckwear counter, where his industry and unfailing courtesy are highly valued. Moral—Politeness pays, if you value a steady job. comicbooks.com