Judge — February 16, 1918 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

JUST KIDS Amusing the Baby—“Have amused your baby brother, Willi kept him quiet while I was gone? “Yes, ma, and he hasn't opened his mouth since you went away.” “What did you do to amuse him, Wil- lie?” “IT gave him the mucilage bottle to suck.” —Baltimore American. you and -year-old ious to be in Helping the Minister— Mary, who is always an: everything that goes on, lives in a small town where the long suffering minister still endure his back salary: she begged eagerly: “Can't I take something, too, muy- donation parties, to make up Just before the last one No; if your father and I take some- thing that will be plenty.” But the child could not bear to give up the idea, so she ransacked the whole house for something suitable. Finally she ap- peared before her mother witha worn and faded dress of her own. “Please, muvver, can’t I take this? See, it’s not a speck of good for any- thing,” she urged.—Christian Herald. That Ancient Feeling—Blobbs—I feel like the oldest man in the world. Slobbs—What are you talking about? You are not a day over thirty. Blobbs—Yes, but I've just been listen- Sure of His Ground Jim—Let ‘em git on wiv it, says I; give me Terry Firmy!— Bystander (London). (ey Leninism “Crest le knout que te manque, mon ami? Sois tranquille, on va te le do “All you need now, my friend, is the knout. ing to a boy of sixteen tell about things he used to do when he was a kid.—Brooklyn Citizen. He Wanted Help—Danny and Bob bie had been left in the care of their big sister while their mother went out. At bedtime they wanted to “stay up for mother,” but their sister relentlessly put them to bed. Danny maintained a stolid indifference, but Bobbie cried lustily. Their sister listened at the foot of the stairs, hoping they would soon be quiet. At last Bobbie stopped, and the listener heard him say: “You cry a bit, Danny; I’m tired Tit-Bits. | CONGRESS Keep the Trench Fires Burning: The Hon. Mr. Moon, chairman of the House Committee on Postoffices and Post Roads, recently informed his col- leagues in Washington that they could send the Congressional Record FREE to our soldiers in France. For Christmas, mind you! Isn't that the most delightful, open- handed action on the part of a govern- ment official you ever heard about? Picture to yourself one of those lone- some American boys at the front. It is Christmas eve, and his thoughts are in Connecticut or Indiana, where the home folks are assembled. Last Christmas eve ner!” But don’t worry, you'll get it! —La Victoire (Paris). he was with them, and there was snow on the ground, and the fire on the open hearth crackled merrily, and all the “folks” were together, and the world seemed good. This year there are no trees in sight. German shells have riddled them and stripped them bare. Theres water in the trench, where he will be tomorrow. He sits in a dimly lighted billet with half a dozen comrades, and they are all think- ing of home—and it seems as though space in its infinity lay between France and the living room where mother and father and Ted and Lucy are. There's a rap at the door. The army postman enters and hands two or three packages to the heartsick soldier. The first one opened is from Washington— seat of government of his country; the country he is fighting for. It isa copy of the Congressional Record containing a four-page speech by the Hon. Jeremiah Whittlesy, of Kansas, on the Pressing Need for an Appropriation of Six Hundred Thousand Dollars with Which to Pay for the Rip-Rapping of Gobbler Creek—a navigable stream in the Honorable member's “Just what I wanted!” exclaimed our homesick warrior, as he throws the book and the speech of Mr. Whittlesy at a teo- venturesome rat. By all means, gentlemen of the House, send the Record to the boys by the ship- load. It is dry enough to burn, and fuel isn’t always easy to find.—Agricultural Advertising. comicbooks.com