Judge — September 18, 1915 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

re wrong. There’s nothing in this vale of woe as fine as things he used to know. You speak about some lovely girls, with shining eyes and glossy curls, with qucenly forms and rounded arms, and forty thousand varied charms. You cry, “Such maidens take the bun!” The gray- beard murmurs, “Quit your fun! The damsels of these later years are not much the old time years! They pad their frames and paint their cheeks, the gowns and hats they wear are freaks, they hanker after mannish joys, they're bold and sassy as the boys. “When I was young,” the graybeard sighs, “the damsels all had timid eyes; they did not try to force their way, as loud-voiced women do today. They learned to spin, they learned to cook, they read ‘Lucille’ or kindred book. They did not paint the virgin check, or want new dresses every week. And they were lovely as the moon that glimmers on a night in June.” Oh, t the album from the shelf, and see the old time girls yourself! The dowdy maids with waterfalls, and Grecian bends and shapeless shawls, and large poke bonnets built of straw—the fiercest bunch you ever saw! And still the graybeards mourn their youth, and think they're handing down the truth, when they insist that old time maid left modern damsel in the shade. I bought a fine new motor car—the smoothest thing in town, by far. A graybeard lives my home beside, and I asked him to take a ride. I thought I'd cheer his ancient heart by speeding up my choo-choo cart, and showing him what haste is like, along some four- teen miles of pike. The car responded to the power, and sawed off fifty miles an hour. And still he talked, in raucous tone, about a horse he used to own. “If that great steed came up the hill, you'd think this car was standing still! You'll never know what truc speed is, unless you saw my trotter whi Thus spake the graybeard, and he thought he wasn’t talking tommyrot. Thus speak all graybeards, more or less, to every mod- ern man’s distress. They're always looking to the rear, recalling things of yesteryear, and croaking forth, with spavined tongue, “When we were young! When we were young!” aT HE graybeard has one changeless song. All modern things, he say’ Faulty Deduction Sherlock—That stenographer is at the telephone describing her new hat to her chum. From that I deduce that her em- ployer is out. Watson—You’re wrong, Sherlock. hand. He gave her the hat. Her boss is right at + Safe on First To the class valedictorian, now connected with a major league team, we remarked: “Do you still cherish your Will you ever be a Socrates?” .” he replied, “but I may make a Homer?” ideals? From a Sinner’s Diary If anyone is good to my face what do I care what they back? It’s likely it doesn’t begin with what I say of thea no worse than they say of each other. You don’t expect your pilot to be a pennant, even in fair Weath I know a hired girl who cleans her lamps every Friday wha: they need it or not. ether I'm ready for town waiting for ma to go with me. longer than common, she’s hurrying so. She'll be lots Lynette Freemire, Time’s Changes Black—Someone just told me that Miss Gayway’s mother won much fame for the delicate yarns she used to spin in olden days. White—And Miss Gayway wins much fame for the indelicne ones she spins in modern days. Efficiency The Answers to Correspondents’ editor was in a quandary “Here's a communication from a woman who wants to know how long it takes to do up a shirt,” he said. “That depends on the laundry,” volunteered the sporting editor, “The one I patronize will do up a shirt in about three washings.”” Dad and Willie Willie—Dad, what do the lawyers call a man that’s been sued? Dad—A pseudonym, William. Can't you see I'm busy? UNION SUITS