Judge — March 11, 1916 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

cautiously he experimented, trembling lest he harm some delicate djustment, but all in vain. It seemed to him that rs passed as he stood there, making little movements which had no meaning of their own, while the gusty northeast wind soused rain into his new lavender socks, and hooted at his efforts. At last, he heard foot- steps in the vestibule. Ina sudden panic, he felt that he could not bear to be discovered standing there, engaged in futile struggle with an umbrella handle. The high porch had no railing, and he silently parachuted off into a nice soft crocus bed, and hid just around the corner of the house, as the front door opened. “IT thought I heard him,” said Mr. Tomlin’s voice. “Wonder what’s up. He’s been gone long enough to find a dozen letter box “He's eloped with your fascinating new 'brolly, Dad!" called the voice of Bes: objectionable half-grown brother. Calvert ground his teeth, as Brother came out and strolled upon but changed its mind and shot up again with a defiant snap. ‘After repeating this performance three times, Calvert w: are of the growing interest of several loungers, and desisted, as the train approached. He decided to sneak onto the rear platform, stay there until the train was well under way, stamp on his diabolical circus tent, and hurl the quivering fragments into the landscape. He steered his bobbing charge awkwardly to the top step, under the suspicious eye of a brakeman, gave the handle an unpremedi- tated clutch as the train started, and—the umbrella closed demurely, leaving him limp with mingled emotions. His telegram to Miss Tomlin, an hour later, regretting an acute neuralgic attack and promising to return the umbrella the next day, was accepted with distinct reservations. Mr. Tomlin pointed out that his conduct had been both peculiar and discourteous, and his wife said that a telephone message would have been more sociable, to say the least, while Brother offered several theories, both skeptical and diverting. Bessie said little; but there was a twinkle in her eye which foreboded a severe strain upon young Calvert’s veracity, to say nothing of his account at the florist the porch, evidently waiting for the wanderer. Finally he went in, witha loud and cheerful sugges- tion that Bessie’s little beau must have got kid- napped; and Calvert ventured back to the steps, where it was somewhat dryer. And now what? He might ring, let himself be discovered in the act of closing the umbrella, and say in an offhand manner, “let me see— where is the spring?” or something like that. If he had only nerved himself to do it at first but how explain his long delay, and the rich clay deposits on his feet and ankles? Should he go home, and leave the umbrella on the porch? No; it might blow away, or something, and the latter explanation would be no easier. The only way seemed to be to take the accursed thing and vanish into the night, trusting that on his way to the station some inspired fiction might occur to him. lly he looked at the bright window, and tiptoed slowly down the steps, with a sudden rabbit- like acceleration of speed, as the front door knob rattled again. He reached the station in ample time , for the 10.03; but how dispose of the umbrella? The idea of injuring it began to look more attractive but the neat station and lawn offered no hiding place for the victim’s remains. Under the electric light, he examined the works with greater care, and discovering a minute projection hitherto overlooked, manipulated it. With a deceitful show of compliance, the umbrella half closed, SCENTING DANGER Mrs. -Alfalfe—Do you think. Mr, Goldrox. that dreams go by contraries ? Bachelor Goldrox—I nope so. I dreamed last night that I was about co marry ! comicbooks.com