Judge — September 4, 1915 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

wave of tenderer feeling softens the reproach on her lips. “Jackie,” she says quietly, “you've been working too hard lately. You need a few weeks in the mountains to re- cuperate.”” And sweeps out of the room. And even that is not truth. It is “something else again” draped in tulle Falschood is the very vertebra of life. Hu- manity is inoculated with it and like the touch of the millionaire’s money we are all happily tainted. Another instance. I stroll down to my club. In a windowed alcove sits old Billy Redmond with a drawn expression of pain on his face. Hullo, Billy,” I call, “how's the old agabond?" Billy starts like a man coming out of sleep and a smile forces its way over his features. ‘Fine as a fiddle, Jack,” he answers. Bless his old heart. He's not even as good as a broken string. Yet he burdens no man with his troubles—and lies heroic- ally. And so it is that we never meet that olf, thank Jupiter. It is in stor- age packed in camphor and regrets with our winter furs. The furs, however, have this advantage. They are worn sometime to flaunt before our friends. But the armor of Truth has lain rusting and mildewed since Adam’s day when the lady was originally garroted. Billy invites me to dine and 1 accept. [also telephone my beloved of my intention substituting another friend's name. Billy is the cause of my too fre- quent absence from the family board to keep peace in my hostelry. We dine. And though I love Billy like a blood-brother, Truth has as much chance in our intercourse as a luscious pippin has of retaining its in- dividuality in the hands of Burbank. How- HARE BRUSH ever the dinner is a delight and I arrive home late. “Have a good time, Jacki calls my wife from her room where she is doing up her yellow hair in those devices of the hair- dressers. Note the subtle lie there. rly,” I answer in a bored manner. It would never do to state the truth. It might endanger other evenings. Lam ready to retire “Bess?” T call. “Listening, Jackie.” ood night,”’ I return, “only girl Lever loved.” A weary yawn, half-tremulous, half-plain- tive, comes from the other room. Boy of my dreams,” she calls, “good night.” And Truth stands weeping—weeping bit- terly in the shadows—I can’t see her but I know she is there—because this effusion of our Grande Passion is not truth—but— taffy. The Changing City IIE stun beats down on asphalt softened street, And ricochets from concrete and from steel, While to and fro, brain-addled by the heat, About their petty business people reel; Oh, City of the Slaves, I go from you, You are a squalid haven to my sight, Oh, City of the Slaves, a long adieu, For Kuth has gone to cooling mountain height. Your streets are merry with the pacans of joy, With gay electric light and laughing gle While up above the stardust seems to buoy ‘The jolly moon on silver summer sea; Oh, City of the Happy, it is I, Back to your gleaming purple and your gold, Oh, City, if I mocked I did but lie, For Ruth is back—so now J’m in the fold. -Lyon Mearson. Reached the Limit The Manager—You've jumped over the cliff all right and you faced the lions and tigers in fine shape. Now in the next scene you capture a live mouse with your bare hands and— The Movie Actress—Not for a million. Here’s my resignation. A BLESSING OF CITIZENSHIP I—"'See wifeal I take outa my paper, now I citizen Americano.” 2—"Fine! Now you carry de bundle like the teal Americano.” :