Judge — September 4, 1915 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

OMETIMES the weather is too dry; no cloud appears in all the sky, the sun is blazing all day long, the heat it sheds is fierce and strong, and farmers view the baking plain, and swear because there is no rain. Is there no way of bringing showers upon this thirsty land of ours? Is man as helpless as he feels, when he lifts up despairing spiels? Why do we yield ourselves to gloom, our minds too ready to assume, that Nature’s doings can’t be switched, that Nature’s program can’t be ditched? If we’d use methods safe and sane, methinks they might produce the rain. I've noticed when I buy a suit that connoisseurs would call a beaut, 2nd drape it on my stately form, and amble forth, there is a storm. The thunder roars to beat the band, the rain comes down on every hand, and I am soak s to head, before ‘‘ Jack Robinson” I've said. ¢ tried it oft, and water hard and water soft, and hail and slect and other suds, come slopping down to spoil my duds. I’ve heard some other fellows say that they are soaked the same old way. When drouth is drying up the oats, and burning whiskers from the goats, why don’t the farmers dress themselves in all the glad rags on their shelves, and hold a meeting on the pi The lightning would be sure to strike, the thunder certainly would roar, and every brand of rain would pour. Each spring I buy a can of paint of color that would make you faint, and spread that gorgeous stuff upon the rustic seats upon the lawn, the garden swing, the pump, the gate—all sorts of traps I decorate. And they’d be pleasing to the eye, if that blamed paint could ever dry, but always, when the job is done, an inky cloud steals o’er the sun, the lightning sizzles, fro and to, the thunder makes a howdydo, the winds bring whirling clouds of dirt, and then the rain begins to squirt. And when the foolish storm has gone, I view the ruins on the lawn, the brindled pump, and chairs that seem like figments of a hop- joint dream, and wonder why it always pours when I go painting out of doors. Such facts as these should point the way to bringing rainstorms any day. —Walt Mason Nothing to It His Wife—Never mind if you have lost everything. You still have me. Mr. Bustup—But running expense. you're not an asset. You're a Definitions for the Mentally Deaf Corker—AX person who bottles up a little sunshine for a rainy Ambition—A nest egg that hatches out Disappointment Trouble—The balance wheel that keeps us from getting too Bore—A person who never flatters us. my. Ennui—Being tired of doing nothing, thing else. Promoter—A man who carns his bread by the other fellow’s brow. Poverty—The soap that guaras us against the ills of filthy lucre Optimist—A person who polishes up the dark side of life. k New Leaf—The same old one, with just another tum. Skeptic—A man who doesn’t even believe his own ‘ Jury—A body of twelve men selected to decide which one of the litigants has the best lawyer. Gossip—A person who can read between the lines when there is nothing there. Pessimist—One who divides his time between wanting what be doesn’t get, and getting what he doesn’t want. Al Good Husband—A man who hasn't the nerve to be anything —Sam S. Stinson, but too tired to do any. Sweat of some else. His View A few years more will see the end of the moving. picture business. Gillis—How so? Willis—Lack of ndance. Gillis—Nonsense. ‘Their popularity is increasing daily, Willis—Maybe, but mark my words, at the rate they are going, in a few s everybody will be either acting in them or running a picture-show and there won’t be anybody left to watch the pictures, As Usual “Does your wife find anything to talk about?” “Not a thing. And she talks about it.” “But why do you claim that your child is an infant prodigy, madam?” Because he's just normal.”