Judge — February 5, 1916 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

The Cosmetic Urge AS KATIE CLANCY, the impet- uous cash girl, in an interval of swathing innumerable packages. glanced in her hand-mirror and ap- plied a touch of pink powder to her sallow cheeks, Beryl de Casey Mont- morency, the lymphatic social sprite, in the secrecy of her chintz boudoir, was shadowing her lashes with an eye-pencil. Concurrently with both these colorful performances, Gladys Parvenu, the belle of the fashionable finishing school, while | bly perusing a masterpiece of French literature, was figuratively painting the lily. That is, she was redden- ing lips whose natural tint wa: atchless scarlet. About this time, too, Hortense La Riche, the statuesque show girl, before a dressing-table in her luxurious Ri apartment, was in the very act of addressing impa cheek-bones with the rouged pedal of a dismembered, rabbit. Nell, of the Salvation Army; Kitty, in service; Rachel, the coatroom girl; “Billy,” the lady press agent; Lou universal stenographer; Alice, the nurse; Mrs. Helen Van Peyster, the ogre of Fifth Avenue; Dolores, the model (cloak and artist’s), and your sister were, some moments later, no less intelligently employed. Not a lip-stick, an cye- pencil, a powder-puff or a bella-donna-dropper was idle in the land. And rumor had it that, in the cavernous depths of Oshkosh and Timbuctoo, numerous members of the Equal Suffrage League were indulging in costly milk baths. The while prim dispensers of elementary education, throughout the length and breadth of the commonwealth, impressed upon their credulous female charges that “beauty is only skin deep.” And descanted with zeal on the lasting pleasures of the intellectual life. Edward Harold Conway. Maud—So Bob has had his auto license suspended? Gabrielle—Yes, and Dolly told him to suspend their marriage license until he regained the other. First chauffeur—Well, how d'ye like yer new boss? Second chauffeur—Fine! He don’t know nothing about a car an’ any time I want a day off I tell him she’s out o” order. Fountain Pens funny folks have written disparaging about fountain pens. Many of these things were humor- ous as all get out. In the olden days when fountain pens and automobiles could not be depended upon to get you there and back, perhaps there was much more truth in the stories than there is in the same sort of story if told today of the present 1916-model, self- starting, streamline fountain pen. I am the proud possessor of a fountain pen (name of make supplied for a self-addressed, stamped envelope) that has seen yeoman service for years. I have used in it everything thinner than cold asphalt, and it still writes whenever it is possessed of the’ slightest particle of dis- colored moisture. I have even filled the poor thing from the open inkstands hotel writing-tables, postof shelves, telegraph-office de and hotel-counters. Yet even with this sort of lava in its bun- s, it produc he stuff that is as nearly legible as my non-Spen- cerian handwriting will permit. No, the fountain-pen must no longer be condemned. It has evoluted from the joke-column, along with the mother-in-law, the hard-cranking automobile, the putting-up of [stove-pipes and the winter-chilled hornets’ Strickland Gillilan. nest. Short Notice Y SAVING for a rainy day 1 find,” said Henry Hinkle, “That nearly all of us delay Till it b to sprinkle!” Hush money always has the last word. comicbooks.com