Judge — May 23, 1914 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE Following Mrs. ELL LOVE HOLLIDAY By TERE ee QMOn't you join me, dear?’’ Mrs. Dawson, who had been busy at the sideboard, lifted her glass. “What kind of raise-’em-from-the-dead are you taking now?’’ inquired hubby, going on with his carving. “This,’’ she answered, tossing it down, “is called a dry Martini. It’s a fine ap- petizer!’" “Awhat?"’ The carving knife dropped NO SALE Agent—What do you think of the property, sir? Prospect—It's an ideal place for a fish hatchery ; but I'm looktng for a place to hatch chickens. noisily, and the head of the house stared. “Where did you learn that?’’ “From Mrs. Flippe. She is so up to date! Don’t you think so?’’ “Umph!’’ Dawson hastily resumed his dissection of the fowl. The surrep- titious glance which he shot across the table landed upon a face as innocent as a babe’s. “I was amazed,’ naively confessed the wife, ‘‘to find how it refreshed one, when 8 bit fagged, to throw a couple of shots in the locker, as Mrs. Flippe says. Isn’t that a funny expression?’’ “Screamingly!’" Scorning the knife, Dawson tore off a wing with his: bare hands. Flippe “Dear me, we must hurry !"" exclaimed Mrs. Dawson, as the clock struck. ‘‘I have tickets to ‘A Soul for a Sealskin’ for to-night.’” “Why, I thought you disapproved of red-light plays!’ he said, in astonishment. “I do,’’ she admitted; ‘‘but I am try- ing not to be so prudish and old-fashioned. Mrs, Flippe tells me that everybody goes to see them.”’ Dawson seized a drumstick in both hands and bit so savagely that he al- most broke a front tooth. When he had finished eating, he lit a cigarette. “Stingy!'’ protested his helpmate. “Aren't you going to pass them round?” “I'm not!’ he snapped. “‘Ifmy wife smokes cigarettes, she'll get them from some one else than me!’’ “Very well,’’ was the sweet response. Reaching down, she detached a silver case from her garter. “I'm not so mean. Will you try one of mine? Mrs. Flippe recommends this brand.’’ In reply, Dawson sprang up, overturning his chair and stepping upon the cat as he rushed from the room. “La, la!’ giggled Mrs. Dawson, listening while her lord stamped furiously up the steps and banged the door of his room. ‘Aren't men the funny brutes?’’ Of course Mr. Dawson was ready and waiting when his wife came downstairs. At sight of her he began giving imitations of a creature that seemed to be a cross between an active chame- leon and a leaky soda fountain. “Do you think,’’ he sputtered, turning from a debutante pink to a boiled-lobster red, ‘‘that you can go out with me in that cos- tume?’’ “Why, what is the matter with it, dear?’ she questioned, in hurt surprise. While struggling to raise his voice above the fizzing noise, Dawson played the color scale from spanked-baby blush to barn red shot with purple. “Your leg shows clear to the knee!" he sizzled. “My skirt isn’t slashed as high as Mrs, Flippe’s. “*You have nothing at all on above the belt!’ He was a permanent purple now, relieved only by bloodshot eyes. “Mrs. Flippe’s corsage is cut lower than this,’’ she sniffed, hunting for her handkerchief. “And your skirt is transparent as glass!’" That fizzing sound grew louder, The leaky fountain appeared likely to ex- plode at any moment. “This is blanket-thick compared with Mrs. Flippe’s,"? she said, touching the button that started the tears. “Mrs, Flippe!"’ bellowed Dawson, the fizzing swelling to the volume of a loco- motive’s exhaust. ‘‘Why do you keep talking of Mrs. Flippe?”’ “Because you are always holding her up to me asa model," she sobbed. ‘Only last night you told me that I ought to discard my silly, old-fashioned notions get up to date and be a live wire—like Mrs. Flippe!’” With a terrific roar the leaky fountain which Dawson had been imitating burst, and Mrs. Dawson was alone., “TL think,” she smiled, drying her eyes, which were not very wet, ‘‘that I have heard the last of Mrs. Flippe."’ Music clerk—What do you wish, madam ? Lady—"' Sing Me to Sleep,’” please. comicbooks.com