Judge — December 11, 1915 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

Tre DAY is done, and I desire a quiet evening by the fire, reclining in my easy chai, without a worry or a care. I have a corking book to read—what more, for comfort, does one need? I’m half way through with Chapter One, in which the hero gets his gun, when Wife remarks, ‘The fire is low, so, William Henry, kindly go out to the shed, with dauntless soul, and bring in forty kinds of coal. You ought to do such thin; Jeed, before you seat yourself to read, and then you wouldn't have to rise with fury glowing in your eyes.” I bring the coal and feed the fire, and try to hide my righteous ire, and stretch out in my cozy nook, to read once more that corking book. I’ve got to where the hero goes to throw the harpoon in his foes, who have abducted Mary Jane, a heroine both safe and sane, when comes my wife, with fretful mien, and promptly queers that peaceful scene. “The rain is falling,” she remarks, “enough to float ten Noah's arks, and you had better go, old scout, and put the tub beneath the spout, so it will catch that precious juice, which is the best for laundry use. I told you just the other day, when you that washtub took away, that you'd forget to put it ba so now go hunt around the shack, until you've raked it up again, and put it where ‘twill catch the rain.” I lay my treasured volume down, and spring three adjectives, a noun, and sundry interjections, too, which make the atmosphere seem blue. And then into the storm I go, and wander grimly to and fro, until that dratted tub I’ve found, and dragged it my abode around. The rain runs down my swanlike neck, the mud converts me to a wreck, and when I’ve to my chair returned, all kinds of language I have burned. The hero takes the villain’s trail, and says, “I'll ride him on a rail.” The book grows warmer as I read; now I'll enjoy myself, indeed. Alas, the chronic, dreary bore who has his residence next door, has come to talk about the war, and what the kings are scrap- ping for. He'll sit around and talk and talk until the striking of the clock proclaims the dawning of a day; I sigh and put the book away. Club Lexicon C UB—Any number of male or female persons who at periodic intervals club together, i.e.. knock the rest of humanity. Club life—What the bachelor divorces himself from when he marries “the best girl in the world.” “Putting one up at the Club”—A good Samaritan act, wherein at 3 a.m. the out-of-town member is placed in bed on the top floor. Club foot—Sce Gout. Club restaurant—A room where Indigestion increases in a direct ratio with the amount of foodstuffs consumed. Clubhouse—1. Any small building situated on a golf course. 2. The local precinct police station. Policeman’s Club—Sometimes termed a night-stick, which, being translated, can mean a man who hangs out at his club all night. Club sandwich—Occurs when the meat of an argument is held between well-bred members. Ace of clubs—A life-saver, when it’s the one needed to fill a straight. Well-known Clubman—Synonym for well-known mathematician —always figures in divorces and other court cases.—Don Bregenzer. Many a man makes so much noise blowing his own horn that he can’t hear Opportunity when she knocks at his door. WHAT HE NEEDED Usher—Opera glasses, sir? Secondro—No, thank you. But I'll take a periscope, if you have one.