Judge — July 24, 1915 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

The Buffalo HE Buffalo, whose right name is Bison, is the only well-known American ani- mal except the Goat who still wears whisk- ers. The Buffalo is related to the Yak, a mild-mannered bovine which furnishes the motive power for Asiatic jitney buses. The Yak is of great economic value when alive, and when dead his tail still wags in the form of a fly swatter—and there are some flies to swat in Asia, believe us! The only thing that is left of the Buffalo, so to speak, is a tale. Fifty years ago, when beards were a mark of masculine distinction and family portraits hung in the parlor, when the plush-covered album was a form of pop- ular diversion, the Buffalo pawed the West- ern plains in millions. But with the pass- ing of physiognomic drapery the Buffalo went down and out, until, like the Bull Moose, there is nothing left of his former greatness save a few live samples in cap- tivity and some mounted specimens in museums. The trouble with the Buffalo was that he had enough size and speed, but he lacked direction. His head was big, but there was nothing of value inside of it. When the mighty hunter sneaked up on a band of six Buffalo and picked off one of them with his trusty rifle, the other five would stick around and look foolish, until the whole sextet were ready to be made into Buffalo robes. This behavior was called courage, and maybe it was; but the fellow who doesn’t know when to beat it is made of the stuff that undertakers delight in and cemetery associations pay dividends on. The Buffalo has always been regarded as a heroic figure, but all he ever got for his courage was to have a village in New York named for him and get his picture on a five-cent nickel. Courage, my son, is a fine thing; but re- member that it is pleasanter to be a live politician with a large income than a dead statesman with a large monument. Don’t be a Buffalo. Maurice Switzer. Fallacious Fabrications Revenge of the Poor Old Horse An old horse that lay sleeping in his stall was rudely awakened by the hired man, who jabbed him with a pitchfork. “Oh, ho, ho!’’ said the horse, arising stiffly. ‘*Another day’s work ahead, I sup- pose."? ‘*For once,’’ said the hired hand, who was a college graduate in disguise, ** your supposition is incorrect. You will be per- mitted to remain in your stall and rest. Your master is dead, and his funeral will be held to-day.’" “But I am going to the funeral,’’ said the old horse. . “Why, for the love of Mike,’ gruffly asked the hired man, ‘*should you go when you may as well stay here and rest?"’ **For twenty years,’’ replied the aged horse, ‘I have been wanting to attend my master's funeral, and now that the oppor- tunity is presented, I will not be denied." Occasionally it happens that all those in the funeral train are not there for the pur- pose of shedding the scalding tear. Richard 8. Graves, No Objection “‘Before you buy,’’ said the bird dealer, “‘T must tell you that this parrot swears fearfully." “Glad to hear it!’? replied J. Fuller Gloom, who has a vile and venomous dis- position, When Father Fixed the Tire HEN father fixed the tire, us boys Kep’ still as mice an’ made no noise. Some folks rode by, says, **Get a mule! Pa says, *‘Shut up, you bloomin’ fool! I can’t jus’ hear what pa says next— Guess maybe ‘twas his golden text. But sis looks peevish, ma looks sad An’ squelchy-like at poor old dad. Jus’ then the tire squoze father’s thumb, An’ he says—well, 'twan’t, ‘* Jerusalem!" Pa dances roun’ an’ says to ma, **You made me buy this thing!" says pa. “Did you hart you, dearie?’’ ma inquires, “Oh, no!’’ pa yells. ‘*I hurt the tires! That stuff you see there, ma’am, is blood, E'ceptin’ what is sweat or mud."" Pa says, ‘‘If we get home, some day, I'll give this blasted car away!"’ An’ then he jams the tire in place An’ says, ‘Hooray! Now watch me race!” —Albert E. Hovt. A DRAWBACK “ Say, Cap, if a feller joins the army is he forced ® wear them socks knitted by the society wimmen?”