Judge — August 25, 1917 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

(UM Trains are coming in again (fashion note.) THE REAL ARTISTS ARE THE LADIES By FRED LADD like as the day he brought her home from their tour of The Rockies to settle down and live forever in their pretty cottage like birds in their nest—with birdie perched on his knee for long, sweet hours each evening until time to go to sleep. But the perch-and-knee idea was, shame upon Whiffley’s brutal male mind, getting 2 bit stale; he longed to go out of an evening, to stroll forth and meet more gross men and exchange speech with them. He wasa little weary of pecking at Maudie’s shell-like ear with his devoted lips and whispering that he loved her, loved her, loved her! And his knees were getting sprung, for Maudie had taken on fifteen pounds. So the rascal re- marked, as she sat there tousling his hair, “ Darling—little— sweetheart—of—my—life, did you know your old honey-boy had been asked to join The Crescendo Club?” “Oh, Pettie!” Sweetly anguished reproach was in her voice, but he steeled himself: ‘Yes, lovey—you see they’ve notified me of my election to membership—I’d been on the waiting list for, oh, ever so long.” She nestled close, and whispered in his ear in stricken tones, “Oh, darling, that awful, awful club!” “Not at all—why, dearie, it’s just the finest club in town, very exclusive and refined and select and influential—it will help me in a business way, immensely!” Whiffley had hit upon the big argument, the argument that wins the idealistic souls of women the world over, and he inwardly congratulated himself. Wi ites the: bride of four months was just as bride- She drew back and.gazed into his face: “George, I’ve heard that they drink at The Crescendo Club—do they?” “Idle talk, sweetheart, entirely idle talk—why the rules about drinking are so stringent that several men who wished to drink have resigned. It’s a fact that no member is allowed to be served with liquor in any form unless the club physician certifies that his constitution requires it—it’s positively the strictest club in town!” “Suppose the club physician were a careless man, or should be mistaken—or—oh, Georgie, I just couldn’t ever bear it to have my darling, darling husband come home to me from his club with the odor of intoxicants——” The little bride was on the point of tears, so Whiffley im- provised valiantly: “Sweet, it is a fact that a council is held, consisting of the board of governors of the club and five addi- tional members, who determine whether nor not any member may procure even so much as a cocktail —this in addition to the club physician’s 5 permission. Even a little brandy in case of sudden illness is strictly forbidden ex- cept by joint approval of the physician and the council! You have no idea how strict they are at The Crescendo Club!”” She sighed pensively, then brightened: “A member would have to wait so long while they were deciding that he might almost have time to give up the idea and come home to his wife, mightn’t he?” “Why, of course, darling. That’s the