Judge — June 6, 1914 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

How to Tell When the Honeymoon Has Set HE HONEYMOON has set— When He begins to take more interest in the Giants’ batting averages than in his own daily kissing average; When He forgets that eleven weeks ago to-day they stood on the afterdeck and swore their love should last until the sea turned to cold consomme; When She neglects to remind him that seventeen weeks ago to-night He said that his soul had waited for hers since He was a precretaceous amphibian and She was an anteprimordial wiggletail; When a third party can come without making a crowd; When the sauce of love fails to cover the burned tenderloin steak; When they have ceased to be nuisances in a gathering; When He pays up his back dues in the Convivial Comrades’ Club, and She begins to brush up on her bridge game; When She concludes She really ought to go back to Plunktown to see mamma, and He concedes that He may be able to worry along awhile without her; When He begins to use plain English in addressing her; When the wild oats, after a crop fail- ure, sprout again. Premonition As be pondered, ‘‘Shall I wed With this showgirl peacherino?"”’ Echo, rumbling overhead, Answered with a warning, ‘‘Reno!’’ Odds and Ends PIECE of impu- dence. A morsel of pride. A lump of conceit. Amassof affectation. A bundle of nerves. A particle of proof. A scrap of reason. A shred of excuse. A fragment of signifi- cance. A speck of scandal. A grain of common sense. An ounce of preven- tion. A morsel of encour- agement. A crumb of comfort. A bit of advice. A rag of reputation. A remnant of logic. A snip of a boy. A slip of a girl. A chip of the old block. —Geo, #. Morewood. In Our Town THERE wuz great re- joicin’ at th’ store this mornin’ when Hank Craig wuz rescued frum th’ interminable heart of th’ forest whar he got lost yist’day. Fer six mortal hours e tramped eround, crossin’ and recross- in’ Hank’s trail, him a-goin’ in a circle and us wishin’ fer a good scent dog t’ trail with. Finally Squire Woodhouse got his think tank t’ workin’ and writ a Ancient—Good night. Modern—Good + Night! A YOUNG MAN DREAMS OP MARRYING ON FIFTEEN DOLLARS A WEEK lot of messages, which he tacked t’ th’ trees. They said: “‘Hank—We can’t find yew becuz yew keep goin’ eround all th’ time like yew wuz on th’ ocean. Stand still and make a noise like a nut. Willie Jones has his pet squirrel along. “Committee.”” And that’s th’ way we found him, by gum! He wuz inside a holler log and wuz well, all but his teeth, which wuz most nigh cracked out of him. Byron Williams, Alas ! SING a song of wedding gifts, Standing in a row. Four and twenty salad bowls 'Neath the candles’ glow, Two and thirty serving forks, Seventeen carafes, A statuette, a candlestick, A picture of giraffes, Twenty dozen berry forks, Butter dishes—six. Bride in tears—was ever girl Just in such a fix? You could hear ten boudoir clocks Striking, if you harked. The tragedy is ev'ry one Of these fool gifts is marked! Margaret G. Hays. comicbooks.com