Judge — August 21, 1915 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

W* SAY to others, *‘Swat the flies, for in these pests great danger lies. They are the national disgrace; they carry germs from place to place. They serve no good or useful ends, but fill the boneyard with our friends. So buy yourself a swatting stick and make the flies look pretty sick.'" Such logic we are preaching strong, the whole blamed, blooming summer long; but do we swat the buzzing crew? No; we have something else to do! And that is human nature, girls; we're glad to hand out wisdom's pearls, but when it comes to doing chores we recommend to other bores, we don't sail in, our souls enthused, but say we'd rather be excused, We say, ‘The grocer is a crook, and we must bring the man to book. He puts cheap sugar in his sand, and dopes his salt to beat the band. He thinks ten ounces make a pound, and when we ask for coffee, ground, he grinds up tanbark in his mill and calls it coffee in his bill. He sends us wilted beans and peas, and ancient, acrobatic cheese, and butter strong enough to spar or use the hoi zontal bar. The grocer ought to be in jail; he robs us of our hard-earned kale, and grins with foul and fiendish mirth when he has pushed us off the earth,”’ And then we go and sell some gink a mine we know is on the blink, or take him fondly by the arm and trade him hot air for his farm, or catch a widow una- wares and sell her fifty Belgian hares For this is human nature, son; we all are after easy mon, but how it hurts when some base cuss projects the harpoon into us! We say, ‘* We hate these summer da‘ and lamentation we shall raise; there is no sense in sizzling heat that fries a man from lid to feet, and cooks his spare ribs in their grease, and undermines his men- tal peace. We'd like to live upon a floe and revel in eternal snow, and have walrus for our fare or musk ox boiled or toasted bear."” But when the wintry tempest blows and chills our sideboards and our nose, we say that winter is a fake, a sad, protracted, dismal ache. We sing the joys of summer, then, and wish that it would come again. For that is human nature, lad. The thing at hand is always bad; the thing a million miles away is what we long for day by day. Mining stock promoter—Where can I hide ? Chicf clerk—Get into the card-index case “ Dis ought to be a warnin’ to us, Jimmy! Don't ever play no games of chance." Theory and Practice Mrs. Blough—I don't try to suit every one. I always want people to take me just as ] am. Caller—Glad to hear it, for we're ina big hurry. I'm the staff photographer for the Scarchead, and the Sunday editor sent me out to get a snapshot of you: Mrs. Blough—Good heavens! bit and put on some more powder. Wait till T run and frill up a Next to Nothing “Why does your wife dry the clothes in the cellar now? That isn’t healthy, is it?’ “Dunno. To tell you the truth, daughter is wearing so little that mother is ashamed to hang the stuff in the yard. ‘The police are coming ! 1 defy anyone to find anything in there.