Judge — November 7, 1914 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

MY FOOT is swollen with the gout; if it were pounded with the knout, it couldn’t have more kitids of pain, and rem- edies are all in vain. But I could stand the torture well and bear my grief and seldom yell, if things did not conspire and scheme to hurt that foot and make me scream. Yea, things inanimate will plan to put the kibosh on a man, and when his mudhook makes him curse, they set to work to make it worse. I rise at night, with anguish bent, to seek the jim crow liniment supposed to ease my muscles torn, and which it eases—in a horn. I know just where the bottle stands, and there I steer, with groping hands; and then my sore foot goes, kerswat! against the corner of the cot. On one lame leg awhile I stand and hold the other in my hand, and quote the bards of ancient Greece and yell for firemen and police. The cot, a thing of wire and steel, of course, you'll say, can’t think or feel; and yet it left its proper stall, its humble place against the wall, to spoil that inoffensive toe and multiply my load of woe. Then, when the anguish quits a bit, and I’ve recovered from my fit, I start again, once more intent on getting that blamed liniment. I take three steps or maybe four, and then a chair slides up the floor, and so displays its nether limb that I shall kick the same with vim. I have ten toes, and I might kick with nine of them a chair— or brick—and not be much the worse for wear; alas! the sore one hits that chair! The one lone toe I'd fain protect gets in collision and is wrecked! 1 fold my poor foot to my breast and rant around like all possessed, until my wife leaves her repose and cools me with the garden hose, That chair, at ordinary times, would not descend to sordid crimes. It is a meek and humble stool that fol- lows up the golden rule; it tries to make the world more gay and scatters sunshine day by day. But when it saw that swollen scow, it had to take a fall, I trow. And everything around the shack will leave its place and jump the track to bruise that poor old hoof of mine, and so I sit here and repine. You know the truth of what I say, that things inani- mate will play the most perverse, outrageous pranks on one who's shaky on his shanks; and if you don’t, just try the gout, and you will blamed soon find it out. The Ant and the Snail A SNAIL saw an Ant go rushing by. “Hey, my friend!’ called the Snail. ‘I know what the trouble with you is. The whole trouble with you is that you walk too fast.’’ “*Walk too fast! How can that be? 1 am going at my natu- ral gait. I like to get over the ground, I do."’ “‘What's the use of getting over the ground?’’ demanded the Snail. ‘You remind me of those foolish touring motorists who see everything and see nothing. My way is to go more slowly and consequently more thoroughly. I may not cover so much ground, but from what I do cover, I learn many important details which you entirely miss."’ “That doesn’t follow at all. Alert of limb, alert of mind, you know. But what good are those details to you or to any one else? By being alert, my opportunities are vastly increased in number. I can pick and choose to better advantage, and thus live a more abundant life.’’ ‘Abundant fiddlesticks !"’ exclaimed the Snail. tainly rich! Anthill?"’ “Well, if you want to get into that,’’ began the Ant, “1 must say’’—but by this time he was so far away that he could no longer be heard. Ellis O. Jones. “That's cer- How could any one live an abundant life in an Not the Same “Poor old Jiggles—he has become a regu- lar shut-in, hasn’t he?’’ said Dubbleigh. “No,”’ said Willaber. ‘‘He’s a shut-up. He’s got lockjaw.”” LA San jab: REGRE Agnes—Did he kiss you? —Datsy—No. 1'm afraid I struggled too bard.