Judge — December 9, 1916 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

“And you mean to tell me that a man nickels!” intained Mar- “but I do say he made it from tips. I'll give in, it’s not all from the same kind. At foist it was money tips and then it was Wall Street tips. But what's the difference? Tip This Mr. Starr used to deliver messages all around the big money district and now he's woith a fortchen. Now he’s giving away good tips about stocks and bonds to his friends for notting.”” “Why didn’t he give you some?” quizzed Henry, smiling. “Some good tip on a ‘War Baby’ what makes a mil- lionaire from a street cleaner or a “Who told you I wouldn't get one?” disputed Markowitz. “I met him last Saturday and he told me the next time he knows something sure, he'll let_ me - know right away. I wouldn’t mind mak- ing a thousand dollars, just like this, on atip. You know, Henry, I didn’t pay Ben Greenberg the thousand dollars for Minnie’s diamond levalier yet. Honest, I need it. It would come in handy. If I should get one to-day, I——” Here Markowitz interrupted by the entrance of a keen-featured, wis looking messenger boy, who carelessly threw a telegram on his desk, and thrusting a receipt book in front of Mar- kowitz’s face said sneeringly, boss, sign! It costs you nothing! kowitz paid no attention to the boy, but hastily tore open the envelope and scanned the message. “Oi! Oi!” he cried, grabbing the boy’s arm and shaking him violently. “You loafer, it’s too late! Too late! It’s after three—after three—Why didn’t you de- liver it one o'clock? I'll have you fired! I could make a fortchen on this tip to buy General Steel!” “Le’ go me!” demanded the boy, try- ing to tear himself loose from the skirt manufacturer. But Markowitz only let go when Sammy, the errand boy, en- tered a moment later, holding the latest edition of an evening paper in hand, which his boss snatched out with the same avidity as he had read the telegram. The entire office—bookkceper, mes- senger and errand boy—watched Markowitz’s anxious fac he nervously scanned the paper's financial barometer. They ex pected a violent dynamic explo- sion any moment. But to their bewilderment, silence followed after the boss’s evident location of the line sought. His complex- ion, however, changed from an extreme pallor to a decided pur- ple, as he slowly folded the paper and returned it to Sammy. Then, fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change which he handed to the open-mouthed messenger boy. “What's that, a tip?” gasped Henry. “Yes,” stammered Markowitz. “From now—from now—I'll always give, but never—never take—tips.”” The making of promises, like the making of books, has no end. The Miracle HOUGH Styles be mad, Designs insane, For maidens pudgy, old or plain— The freest hat, the wildest gown, The strangest pattern in the town, Presto! their ugliness is gone If Evelina puts them on.—J. Abdication Queen of my heart— Queen nothing! Queens can’t pick their husbands. I can—and believe me, I’m some picker. 2. Middleton. The Artistic Touch Rocks—Beatley seems to be a very gifted fellow. Stocks—Huh! He usually calls ’em “loans” when he tackles me. THE SUREST WAY Blackly—I'm going to give a doctor one hundred dollars to save my hair. Whitely—Why save it yourself ? don’t you take an envelope and