Judge — October 9, 1915 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

“Gee! Jones looks gloomy! What's the matter with him?” Ballades of a Gay Week-ender The Reggie Doanes LIKE to visit the Reggie Doanes, ‘Although their place is not close by: They haven't any telephones, Nor infants that at mi They never bother one, To urge one to perform strange But, best of all They take in several Sunday papers. ‘oh, cestasy! No stint is here! With morning scones And coffee made deliciously, One sits upon the porch, and owns He has no cause to fret or sigh Oft have I waited patiently, At other homes, whilst Jackernapers Looked through the news. But here—oh, my! They take in several Sunday papers! There's one for you, and one for Jones; You do not have to peep and pry Over his shoulder. No one loans You half a sheet begrudgingly. The front page you can read! That's why The Reggie Doanes have no escapers not I- If more hosts took in several papers! I'd never wire myself. L'Envoi Dear Reggie Doanes, I'll not deny You're poorer than’ the Sutton-Drapers; And I'll forgive your Scotch and Rye— You take in SEVERAL Sunday papers! Paul Norman It’s a wise fly that knows its own swatter. “He took the smoke cure.” He Wanted an Invalid 66PUT I thought that you wanted an active boy,” said the superintendent of the orphans’ home to the elderly farmer who had brought back a boy of ten years taken for two weeks “on trial.” The boy was returned by his possible foster p: the plea that he was too “blamed “T did want an active boy, reply, “but I didn’t callate on gittin’ one that would make a race hoss seem slow. Now this boy e yistiday, which is a sample da: ust thing he did he skeered my wife almost into fits by shinnin’ up a tree sixty feet high an’ hangin’ by his feet from one o’ the highest limbs an’ then comin’ down the tree head fust. Then he clim to the roof o’ the barn an’ danced a ig on the ridge-pole, an’ then he slid down into the well on the well rope because my hired man dared him to. He come up on the rope an’ then he grabbed a yearlin’ cow critter by the tail an’ hung on until it had run half a mile, an’ then he rid a hoss all around the barnyard with him standin’ up on its back an’ when he fell off he landed on his feet an’ jumped three times into the air an’ clicked his heels together three times before he struck ground. He made a swing out o’ the clothes-line an’ swung so high he almost stood on his head, an’ then he chased a woodchuck into its hole an’ got a spade an’ dug it out, then he got a loose wagon wheel an’ started it down a long hill an’ it run into “And it failed 2” * No, it cured him.” a blind hoss a woman neighbor o’ mine was drivin’ an’ the hoss rared an’ plunged an’ a basket with ten dozen eggs she had in the wagon was dumped out an’ she says I got to pay for ’em, and then he—say, you better git some circus to ‘dopt him. If all your active boys air like that I'd like to try one o’ your invalids, by heck!” -Morris Wade. A Huntress IANA-LIKE the maiden’s mien; Expert she was with gun and cartridge; She wore a hunter's garb of green, And sought with me the quail and partridge. We ranged the tangled woodland side That creatures of the wild inhabit; To wing a plover was her pride, Nor did she scorn to bag a rabbit! Mile upon mile of moor and close We tramped, and she—she never wilted; And T admired her pose and nose That was so saucily uptilted. We lunched together on a log, And talked of game both big and little; Of love and sentimental fog I deemed she did not care a tittle! And all went well until a day When I sat solemn and dejected; ‘Then in her eyes I saw a ray £ ‘That I (poor fool) had not suspected. Sudden she laid aside her gun And caught up Cupid's bow and arrow, And shot a shaft—'twas only one- But that, it pierced me to the marrow! —Clinton Scollard