Judge — December 1, 1917 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

CHRISTMAS tan COMING HE MERCURY is dropping, dropping, and lower still it drifts; soon we must do our Christmas shopping, and buy each other gifts. I know you all are planning, scheming, to give me handsome things; you'd sce my soul with gladness teeming, as happy as two kings. It isn’t hard to make me happy. and chase away my tears, for I’m a rather gay old chappic, though loaded down with years. Most any cheap john Christmas present will make me smile and sing; you always sce me looking pleasant, as cheerful as one king. I'm glad to get a pair of clippers, a watch or diadem; but please don’t send me any slippers—I have no use for them! I have so many pairs of slippers, sent me by loving friends! I wish they'd give me pans or dippers, false hair or Grecian bends! These friends of mine have surely blundered, in count- ing up my feet; they seem to think I have a hundred, a hundred and repeat. In following the path of duty two feet are all I need; I never took a prize for beauty, but I’m no centipede. It isn't pleasant criticizing the folks who give me things, who wish to see my spirits rising, as happy as three kings. Such criticism’s truly shocking, it’s vulgar, low and mean; but still I wish they'd fill my stocking with cans of gasoline. I am among the ardent trippers who'd motor far and near; but all I ever get is slippers, when Christmas time is here. I see the people all around me get presents they enjoy; but naught but slippers ever found me since I was but a boy. I sce my nephew get a cycle, my niece, she gets a doll; I envy them, so help me Michacl—I have no luck at all. I envy much t little nippers, who get the things they wish; for all I ever get is slippers, and carpet ones, ods fish! I have twelve pairs of carpet slippers, and fourteen pairs of felt, and some carved out by arctic skippers from an old walrus pelt. I’ve slippers made for varied weather, my trunks are brimming full; I’ve slippers made of yellow leather, and others made of wool. I understand why Jack-the-Rippers do run amuck and heir friends keep sending misfit slippers upon the Christ- If you would see me glad and chipper, all buoyant and serene, ut out the worsted Christmas slipper, and send me gasoline! The Flood Yule-Tide By KENNETH L, ROBERTS R. IVAN FREEPURSE was making up his Christmas list; and from his hoarse breathing and his restless movements it was evident that the demon Worry had taken possession of him. “My dear,” said he to Mrs. Freepurse in a trembling voice, “my figures show that unless we make material reductions in our expenditures for Christmas gifts, our debts will be such that a year from next January will sce us still striving to pay them.” Mrs. Freepurse acknowledged the seriousness of the situa- tion by making a clucking noise with her tongue. “Now I suggest,” went on Mr. Freepurse with a hunted expression in his eyes, “that instead of giving the clevator boy five dollars this year, as we did last year, we give him one dollar.” “Horrors, Ivan!” gasped Mrs. Freepurse, blanching per- ceptibly, “you can’t doa such a thing! I wouldn’t dare to ride in the elevator with him if you insulted him so! I won’t allow itl” “But, my dear!” protested Mr. Freepurse feebly, “the boy is paid for his labors, and outside of them he does nothing for us. In fact, when I ring for him, I’m fortunate if he doesn’t make me wait four or five minutes. Why should we inconvenience ourselves to give him something he doesn’t deserve? “Not another word, Ivan!” cried Mrs. Freepurse hoarsely. “That boy gets his five dollars, or we move! Why, I could never endure his reproachful looks!” “Very well,” said Mr. Freepurse reluctantly, “if we can’t save on the clevator boy, we'll have to start on the janitor. Last year we gave him ten dollars; and how did he reward us? He rewarded us by shutting off our heat at nine o’clock when- ever we had callers! He rewarded us by being impertinent when I wanted him to fix our radiators! Upon my soul, he shouldn’t get anything!” “Ivan,” declared Mrs. Freepurse in tense, horrified tones, “Tyan, have you taken leave of your senses? That janitor has been led to expect ten dollars. If he doesn’t get it, who can tell what awful steps his rage will lead him to take! As you value my safety and peace of mind, don’t speak of such a thing!” “But my love!” exclaimed Mr. Freepurse, “we cannot escape bankruptcy unless we change our scale of Christmas giving. It wasn’t until October that we paid up the bills that we contracted last Christmas. There’s no other way except to make wholesale reductions.” “There must be,” wailed Mrs. Freepurse passionately. “We must give everyone exactly what we gave last Christmas, no matter what sacrifices we have to make. I will go without sweets. You can go without eggs for breakfast, and smoke five-cent cigars instead of twenty-five-cent ones. We will ride in the street-cars and stop taking people to the theatre. I will pawn the piano, and we can refuse to make any more payments on the de luxe set of books we bought for twenty dollars down and a dollar a week for life. We can deny our- selves everything; but we cannot appear parsimonious in the matter of Christmas gifts. We have a reputation for generosity to maintain!” Defeated and broken, Ivan Freepurse pressed his Christmas list to his eyes and burst into heart-rending sobs; for he plainly saw that it was only a question of a few years before he would sink beneath the treacherous Yule-tide and vanish forever from mortal ken. comicbooks.com