Judge — January 27, 1917 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

(ath LGR “She was in an automobile accident—nothing serious. Only had the enamel scraped off.” “Her face or the machine?” HOME OME is a place that being conspired against. Every new amusement that is d ed is part of the general scheme to put home in the discard. In spite of all the forces working against it, home manages to survive. It has won out in spite of electric lights, theatres, moving pictures, bridge whist, cabarets and automobiles, though sometimes its victories have seemed rather hollow. Man’s ingenuity is not yet exhausted, however, and home may yet have to take the count, with some undreamed-of form of entertainment the victor. Home's worst handicaps have always been within it- self, in the form of shiny furniture, poor pictures, cheap ul paper, narrow windows and unskilled cooks. A home that has none of these fundamental drawbacks is proof against anything—even to the rent collector and the mort- gage shark. All houses are not homes. Some of our highest priced architects, who have built the largest and finest houses, have not succeeded in producing more than a ten per cent. average of homes. On the contrary, many a homesteader who has put up a rude shelter composed of a few boards and some tar paper, has made a real home. The commercial agencies do not record any worse fail- ures than homes that have never known any children. One of the most encouraging signs in the home industry is the fact that people no longer label their homes with mottoes done in red worsted. —Arthur Chapman. In the Elysian Fields Wifey looked out the window. “It is time for my spouse to be coming home,” she murmured. “Ah, there he comes—and somebody has removed the p!” MEDITATIONS ON STONE WALLS TONE WALLS are testimonials to our ancestors’ disregard S for crushed fingers, and to the success of their quict determination to finish what they started. When the builder of a stone wall had placed an egg-shaped rock on top of another rock with a dome-like top upwards of fifty times, and the egg-shaped rock had responded to his efforts by rolling off on his foot, or bouncing sickeningly from his knee, or slipping sideways and barking his knuckles with unbounded energy, the stone-wall builder did not froth at the mouth and emit a withering stream of profanity and vow that the thing was impossible and stamp off to the mov Indeed, no! He gritted his teeth, and squidged his toes into his boots a bit more firmly, and patiently continued his attempt to balance the egg-shaped rock on the dome-like surface. Every foot of every stone wall in the United States demonstrates conclusively that he succeeded without any assistance from the rocks. Nowadays, the tiller of the soil is very apt to insist on co- operation from the government, the soil, the rocks, the neigh- bors and the banks, and then to blame his lack of success on the weather or the high price of gasoline. The curriculum of each of our schools and colleges should contain a course in the building of stone walls, on the assumption that any one who has constructed a wall out of loose rocks must realize that he can do almost anything. After a young man has persuaded several thousand knobby stones to balance on each other, his mental attitude is such that the majority of life’s little tribulations and hindrances bother him a trifle less than a mosquito-bite would annoy an alligator.—K. L. Roberts. A Question of Understanding (0 bachelor can understand a woman,” declared Mrs. Stubkins. “Huh, you don’t say so!” replied Stubkins, with a snort. “What else in the world do you suppose makes a man a bachelor?” “What you bawlin’ erbout ? You don’t hafter git yer face washed er go ter school!”