Judge — December 22, 1917 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

i i AD UNM ta TOE TE DOWN IN THE SUBWAY Polite New Yorker—New York, Madam? Yes, Madam. One flight up. 6G \O-MORROW,” I remarked to my T wife to-day (said McFee to me one day recently), “‘to-morrow I By 4 will amble forth to the merry mart of trade and purchase a ne 7 The purcha ane is, with me (and McFee talking) one of the events of life—as serious a matter as getting married or drawing up a last testamental will. It is an event I rarely permit to interfere with my regular routine of life— such as the scrambling after three squares a day and amassing a fortune so that I may pay the six per cent. interest on the mortgage of my comfortable little home—and the assessments,on which I did not figure when I made th payment on the estate. When I purchase a necktie I purchase a necktie for its we able qualities. I get one that will last until I accumulate wealth enough to buy another. I am not fond of varying my ties. I like one I like and I like to wear one I like when I have to wear anecktie. This is a peculiar trait I po: though Mrs. McFee assures me all men have the same habit, without carrying it to the extremes I do. I have a method of buying a necktie—when I buy one. I watch the windows of haberdasheries. I see the tics therein contained. Ifa lot is selling for two bits each I consider it worth my time to take cognizance of the material of which they are made. Usually my fancy runs to the Persian—I like a tie to match the parlor rug, or the floor covering of my library—where I have a writing desk, a discarded piano stool and a shelf holding twenty-four volumes written by authorities. If a necktie resembles a Kermanshah and covers a broad expanse of bosom and sells for two bits I buy it. And Mrs. McFee knows this. Buying a Tie » WALTER UTTING So she advanced an argument. “Going to buy a tie, eh?” she said. “For yourself?” “Not with the merry Yuletide so near,” I replied. “No, fair and buxom one, this one is to give away to a friend.” “A tie,” she opined, “is an old-fashioned Christmas present And I’m sure your friend, whoever he is, will not like the sort of tie you will pick out.” “Oh, I know what men are wearing,” I told her. “I see ’em every day. And often my taste in ties is commented on.”” “T don’t wonder,” she stabbed. “Well, to-morrow I set out to buy a tie,” I announced again. It was morning when I spoke. I was gulping down my coffee and chewing into my toast. And I told her I would buy on the morrow. But on the way from the train to the office I passed a window containing as fine an assortment of ties as an Orient would wish to look at if looking for a prayer rug. I stopped. I regarded. I entered the store. I looked over the stock. But I saw nothing that appealed to me. I went to another store. There were plenty of ties. But there was none that met my fancy. I determined to find one that did. I telephoned the office that I would be late, and started out, rambling from store to store, Noon found me still regarding, still hoping, still determined! What mattered business affairs? I was buyinga tie. Afternoon came, and afternoon went. ill I was shuffling around, still hoping, but still without the bosom blanket. Evening came. Stars peeped out. One by one the stores closed. Still 1 looked for a tic. And then I found myself hungry and the railroad station near by. So I entered a train comicbooks.com