Judge — August 26, 1916 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

“The Chair That Whis- pered” is the first of a series of delightfully told stories about “Our Square.”’ In them Samuel Hopkins Adams introduces the in- terestingly ““Bohe- mian”’ characters who live a real village life in the heart of New York. Read this first idyl of “Our Square” in the August 26th issue. Others will follow at regular intervals in Collier's THE NATIONAL WEEKLY ——— aS a as Ca 416 West 13th Street, New York | | rr at bee SE a Se ees ALL THE WORLD IS LIKE MISSOURI AYLOR, ’93, was in the thick of Woe. Spriggs, his old college chum saw that, the minute he refused to go out for an afternoon of golf. “Golf? Huh! Golf. No. Sorry, but I can’t afford to leave this office ten minuteS! The outfit of fakers drawing their salaries from me go to pieces the second my back is turned. The business is probably ruined anyhow, but my last chance to save it, Spriggs, old man, is to stick every minute!” And Taylor looked up at his old friend with an expression of dis- tressed gloom beside which the face of a disinherited heir would be a study in light-hearted joy. “Taylor, golf won't do you any good. An afternoon off won’t change your punk line of imagination one little bit: what you need is a trip back to college to see a whooping ball game that is going to occur on the sixteenth. It’s for blood! Say, man, you haven't forgotten that twelve inning festi- val with Harvard in ’g2 when your clean drive to deep right scored me home from first with the winning run?” Taylor sat up and took notice. “I think I'll see the game,” he said; “T can just as well settle with my creditors and start life anew afterward, as any other old way.” Taylor was in fearful condition next Friday, when Spriggs met him at the train to go back to the old College town. It was not until they had arrived, and climbed the hill, and the sight of the venerable buildings of the front campus filled Taylor’s tired eyes with something very kin to tears that he said, “I'm glad I came, Old Man!” But you should have seen him next day, in the cheering section! He was THERE! Eyes bright, face radiant, voice like a steam calliope. The score was two and two at the end of the tenth. Taylor had been yelling for one and three-quarter hours, and had gotten more good air into his lungs than they had known for a year. The visitors were blanked in their half of the eleventh. For Taylor’s college, the tail end of the batting list came up. Pop fly te short. One out. The stands went crazy. Tay- lor stood up with the rest and helped bellow the great, wonderful cheer that had inspired teams to victory ever since there were teams. The nervous little bunch of muscle at bat cracked a perfect single just over second; and fleeted like an arrow to first. He stole second by a heart thrilling lead and a magnificent slide. The batsman—struck out. Two gone! . Taylor leaped his way down to the players’ bench while the crowd was getting crazier every second. Spriggs was but dimly aware he had gone. The little man on second was playing away off his base, the moment the next batter was up. This happened to be Taylor’s son; and Tay- lor’s son’s father had whispered a word in his ear, at the bench. Now you expect that Taylor's son scored his man with a clean drive over short, don’t you? Wrong. He hit a homer against the left field fence. The way Taylor explained it to Spriggs that night was this: “I told him that for every base he made I'd give him a touring car!” “What will the boy do with four?” “Sell them, and help his old father out of financial difficulties,” said Taylor; “you seem to disremember that I have exactly four cars in storage that I had to take for bad debts.” “Why didn’t you sell them yourself?” inquired Spriggs. “Because I didn’t have the pep to get out and do it, I guess; but I sub- mit that a boy that could paste out a home run with thirty thousand people yelling like Indians can turn a little trick like selling four cars. I’m going to send the whole flock of cars up here to him.” “I dunno, I dunno,” said Spriggs; “it looks to me like commercial- izing college athletics.” Taylor’s son failed to sell the cars. But he married, in June, an heiress who had seen him hit for four bases; and, we may add, an heiress whose parents were much impressed by his multiple ownership of cars. Deduction, Inference and Straight Tip: In college athletics, or the marriage game, it Pays to Have the Goods to Show. Moral: Don’t stick to your desk too closely, or Some Ordinary Woop may beat your Gifted Progeny to a golden opportunity.—Fred Ladd. Not Related Two darkies worked for a Southem woman, Mary Brown and Susan Brown. One day Mrs. Blank asked Mary if they were related to each other. “You and Susan have the same name,” she told her, “but you don’t look at all alike. Are you any kin?” “No'm, we ain't no kin,” Mary answered, “but Susan, she mar- ried my husband! comichooks.