Judge — April 7, 1917 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

CONVOYED and a woman without millions. Widowers, as a rule, are men of amatory experience, and a multimillionaire is usually a person of great business acumen. I am curious to learn whether, in his case, the sentimental dominated the purely business idea in his proposal. But a woman is a bit tender on such a subject and ought to respect what the lawyers call ‘a confidential communication’; and I don’t ask you to tell me what Christopher Jones said. Of course a middle-aged mil- lionaire in love is apt to make promises which to one not a millionaire would seem extravagant.” “But really I want to tell you so you can advise me. And try to be serious, John! You are such an old friend, and I have always placed such confidence in you!” “Tt’s a little unbecoming, I’m afraid, for another man— even for me—though we've long been great friends——" “Dear friends.” “Surely! But to listen, as it were, to another man’s declara- tion of love... .” “Oh, it’s not ning, John. In this case, when I come to you for advice, it is perfectly proper for me to give you some basis for judgment.” “Possibly. But what other free woman in all your set do you think would ask anybody's advice if Christopher Jones should propose marriage to her?” “No other woman, perhaps.” “Then why are you so different from all the others? Sup- pose, now,—assuming that you have not absolutely committed yourself to Jones. . . .” “Oh, I haven't, John!” “Well, suppose I should ask you to marry me. Would you go to anybody for advice?” “Not” And she drew a little closer to him. TESTED BY TIME By HOMER CROY EW WRITERS contemplating novels may find these love passages, taken from recent books, of great help to them. The frequency with which they occur is indicative of their merit. No writer can go far wrong in using any of the following: June with its roses had come again. It seemed an eternity before she spoke. She was breathing heavily, with her clenched nails biting into her palms. Ah, the mystery, the wonder of it! “T wonder why you have such a strange influence over me,” she said, as their lips met in an ecstatic embrace. She put out her hand—her thin, white hand—and over it his great, brown one closed, as the heavens came down about them. When he spoke there was a suspicious huskiness in his voice. No one guessed as they came out of the garden, softly and without word, how madly their hearts were beating. Picking up his walking stick he staggered into the night, while Eunice rushing to her room flung herself full-dressed on her bed. The light of evening was falling softly through the windows. When she raised her eyes they were filled with tears. . as he drew her, unresisting, into his . . . . =. he cried fiercely «+» she cooed softly... DEMANDING THE MOON By MeLANDBURGH WILSON O# baby crying for the moon, Small fraction of humanity Your racketing will drive me soon To something like insanity. But baby dear, be not deceived By late events of prominence, And do not think that when aggrieved You shall obtain such dominance. Ah, baby dear—kerwhack! kerswat! You chose the wrong variety, For your demand has only got The spanktion of society. THE SCOREKEEPER comicbooks.com YWiIM