Judge — June 24, 1916 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

$3) WONDER how the station master can stand his job, the whole I year round, while people kick, and fast and faster their ques tions wild and weird propound. From morn until the dewy even he hears the same old kicks and roars, from travelers, as they go weavin’ around and slam the depot doors. And questions vain and questions batty are fired at him the whole day long, by mollycoddle, meddling Mattie, and every aleck in the throng. “Why does your road treat me so di trains again. My train was due at seven thirty, is striking ten. “When do I reach Crabapple Junction? The train will leave at half past three? I’m due there at a social function—if I am late you'll hear from me.” “Why don’t you clean this water cooler? The water’s much like writing ink; this road must have a bonehead ruler, or there would be reform, I think.” “Your answers give me indigestion, and put my wishbone out of joint; when I propound a foolish question, I want an answer to the point.” “You want three dollars for this ticket! Such blink-blanked robbery as that! If you were not behind that wicket, I'd push your face clear through your ha “T’ve waited here since early morning, and still have nine more hours to wait? Well, let your rotten road take warning—the other line will get my freight!” And thus forever and forever the patrons question, roar and beef, the while the agent makes endeavor to wear a smile and hide his grief. If some one from the mortal pageant, some man with kindness in his head, should smile upon the station agent, methinks he would fall over dead. y? I'll never use your and now the clock RESTRAINT SHION has quite eliminated this figure of speech, and it is doubtful if it ever achieves popularity again. Not that its vogue was ever much to speak of, but with some past generations it enjoyed favor. Before folks settled so thickly in the big centers of culture, Restraint was a bit of evidence of human refinement. However, we have changed all that. Instead of restraint we have ostentation; instead of repose of behavior we are in the midst of push and clamor. Noise supplants quiet, and the retiring nature has given way to the climbing one. An atmosphere of strenuosity permeates more than politics, and, in a word, manners have “gone out.” We are all responsible for this, so why credit anybody in particular? It does strike us, however, that we might have some fun in trying to correct such a state of things. Say, just don’t howl because the thing wanted doesn’t . Ethel—It's simply horrid the wa: George—Yes; and the worst of it is, she daren’t talk back. turn up at the instant required. Don’t be too sure the empty seat is yours because you reached it, well, almost before that other pas- senger did. And why keep this seat for two for only yourself when that foreigner and his wife and baby have to settle in places sep: ate from each other? What a pleasure to measure out the ne sary restraint to keep down one’s innate selfishness, exercise the former, and sce the little family together, well taken care of! We can’t all travel first-class! We saw two men trying to occupy one of the narrow cross seats in a suburban car the other day. The broader stranger occupied most of the whole seat. The other stranger turned to him with— “Could you give me a little more room?” “Don’t see how I can. I moved over when you came in.” “Oh, did you?” “What do you want—the whole All of which accomplished nothing, and is not Restraint! Tod Chenevix. i THE FEMALE PROLETAIRE By OREOLA W. HASKELL HE FEMALE PROLETAIRE, oh, she’s a creature passing queer— Poetic ravings o'er her sex fall dully on her ear. «9 when some bard dubs Woman—*The Empress all Adore,” She says in tones sardonic, “An Empress scrub a floor? Or get parboiled with soapy steam to wash out dirty clothes? Let greasy fumes from cooking pots swirl up her royal nose Sport fingers stained with dyes of trade, a magenta tint? Get choked with products of the loom, its deadly flying lint? An Empress? Bosh, some lunatic doth thus to us allude. Thus speaks the Female Proletaire whose views are plain and crude. The Female Proletaire, alas! her brain seems all awry, Upon the theme of Chivalry she turns a skeptic e “That Man now cares for Woman so the latter need not vote,” Is a kind of dulcet doctrine that to her I hate to quote. “If he cares for her so ably,” saith she both grim and sage, “Why must she use a microscope to sec her weekly wage? Why are the best jobs always shot beyond her d hope, So that she can but gape at them as through a telescope? Why doth Man give her drudgery rep the re This Chivalry is mostly dope,” says the i IMAGINE! mother has to take that ordering around! comicbooks.com