Judge — October 21, 1916 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

No other month can CTOBER is the month of bliss. equal this. The woods are stained with gorgeous dyes. we fill ourselves with pumpkin pics, and bless the good and_ gifted dame, the willing wife, who makes the same. October yields the perfect day May, but in the a chap, and he ren the skies are blue as skies of vhyr there's p that puts new vigor in Is, “T'll bet five beans that I could whip ten wolverines.” There is no letha in him; his step is brisk and full of vim; and to the pawnshop, full of steam, he goes, his ulster to redeem. But, coming back to pumpkin pies, on which, all know, there are no flics, October sees them at their best; they’re full of pungency and zest. The pumpkins then have no disease: they've just been gathered from the trees; they have no mildew in their flesh, they’re succulent and crisp and fresh. You talk of pics of peach and mince, and pies of apples, raisins, quince; a hundred kinds of pie you spring, and yet the pumpkin pi king. October is the month of grace. her face. What though the flowers are dead and brown, and all the leaves are dropping down, and in the night wind’s wailing breath we hear a whispering of death? What though the joyous birds have flown, away, away, to climes unknown? Vhat though the wind that sweeps the hill suggests grim win- deadly chill? What though the ficlds are brown and ar? Is there no compensation here? Are you so careless and unwise that you've forgotten pump- kin pies? If one has all the pics he necds, he’s foolish if his bo- som bleeds, because Dame Nature, on her way, is spreading ruin and decay October's { pies are ripe. A thousand charms are in ise I still shall pipe; for then the pumpkin Cause for Complaint to the Management “You'll have to pay fare for that child, madam,” said the conductor. “But he’s only cight years old.” We collect for all children over seven.” “Well, why don’t you have your silly old rules put up where people can see them?” THE HIGHER CLUB LIFE HERE was solemnity in the air, and members passing the library-annex looked in at the door for a brief instant, then out again with awe. An even twenty of the senior, or charter-member, class were seated around the luxurious open fire, and their low-pitched voices betokened discussion of no common order. The Olympiad appreciated itself through a membership of the most conservative men and minds. To become a member of its household was the dream of the average professional man's early life, but not always did the dream come true. Still, an occasional business man was able to pierce with his nameless credentials the charmed circle, and no doubt being without an abnormally thin skin, he never felt amorgst the clan like a cat in a strange garret. Despite the harmonious routine of the establishment, where all the machinery ran with well-oiled perfection, an occasional creak was sometimes heard. Such was now the case. When the old guard got together with a sort of automatic unanimity it could be easily understood that something was going to happen An irregularity must have occurred. Somebody was going to get his. The laws were rigid, but they were plain. Nobody need disobey them while sober, and nobody could be other than sober at the Olympiad. At last the conference ended, and the least timid outsiders sought information of its subject and result. It appeared that one of the recent acquisitions, himself a sophisticated clubman, had incurred the critical displeasure of his seniors. He would get his reprimand. A committee of three would wait oa him and convey his apologies and promises to the dignitaries of the Club. And what was his offence? Failing utterly to observe the exclusive habit of the Club Governors and of his fellows, and ignoring in consequence the inflexible rule of the Club, he had on several separate occasions entered the sacred precincts of the Club house with his hat on. Tod Chenevix. Unexpectedly Restful “Is it a good place to spend your vacation?” “Awful! [didn’t do anything but rest while I was there.” a Cop—I don’t see how ye kin blame the kid fer snowballin’ ye! Seems to me it's yer own fault fer wearin’ that hat. comicbooks.« rn