Judge — March 9, 1918 — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

The Last Word By Jaxe Vivian ‘O two, purl. One, two, purl.” $3.30 (including war tax) for a gat to knit in. I had paid the same amount for a seat in which to listen to “One, two, purl. One, two, purl.” The weary refrain with its click accom- paniment was crushing my nerves into came on, I should be guilty of a crime. He came on. She continued “oneing, twoing, purling. March 9, 1918 he woman next me had paid Muratore. paste. If she did not quit when Muratore “Madame,” I said cross! “would you be good enough to put a muffler on your needles and cease your mumbling?” The knitter looked at me suspiciously and kinked her eyebrows. “You must be a German,” she said, as she finished her survey of my counte- nance. This remark would have seared my soul, but for its ridiculousness. I might be classified under the general head of Second Story Personages, but a German? Never! Seeing that she had not ruffled my disposition in a single spot, the lady proceeded to drop more stitches in her sweater. I looked at it. Now, had it been a real healthy looking sweater that would have kept some dear soldier warm, I'd have let her click her needles and mumble, but, bless you, in the dim red rays of the exit light I counted six holes, each large enough for a good shot to have put a lemon through without harm- ing a spear of that woman’s yarn. I could have counted more, but Muratore appeared. Click click. _Mumble mumble. 1 looked behind. Back of the rail was a col- lection of music revellers none of them building sweaters. I attached myself to their unit. 7 nicaa! of you people going to “No, and we aren’t going to TALK, either,” said a morose individual, who was evidently short of coal. “To be sure you are not,” I retorted, “unless you wish to die at dawn.” And, being a woman, mine was the last word. Domestic Example Johnny—Pa, what is the difference be- tween government ownership and govern- ment control? Henpekt—Well, for mother doesn’t own me. instance, your He Had to Go Fassett—I thought Hasperley claimed he was too old to be drafted? Knox—He did; but the draft officials learned that Miss Hasperley, who swore she was only twenty-two, was his twin sister, and they were too gallant to take his word in preference to hers. Judge’s Trench Kits ‘“‘Over There” (Reproduction of Letter) From: Depot Express Officer. Judge, Tos Subject: was allotted to this Station. 2. articles. HE above letter from an Army Depot “Somewhere in France” reports the arrival of one of the seventy-three cases of JU Trench Christ- mas Kits. Between the lines of this soldierly lett courteous and choicely-worded within the strict lim tions of military form—one gains a picture of the little celebration.which probably took place when the box Regulating Station "A". Army Postoffice No. 712. 5th Avo., Now York City. Receipt of Christmas Packages. 1. One of the large boxes sont over here by your company, con- taining Christms kits for American soldiers in active service in France The contents have been distributed to the several soldiers at this place who have been requested to make personal adknowledgement thereof to the various donors. Permit mo to thank you in behalf of the men at this place and to commend you for the care in selecting such appropriate and useful Ast Lt. Inf., Ue Se Be Jan. 25, 1918. W. Le McMorris. was opened, and the 208 individual kits of comforts and small luxuries were handed out to the men. For the benefit of our new readers let us explain that JUDGE organized a Trench Christmas Fund last Autumn, and, with the co-operation of the American Defence Society, sent more than 15,000 kits of good cheer to France. Egg View Notes By Lesue Vay Every R. BUTTON EDGIN, who ain't been M here long from Spring Ledge, was quickly ordered out of Bill Waite’s grocery, by Lem Bushnell, our marshall, during the exciting special February-bargain rush Tuesday afternoon. A stranger told Bill he was hunting after a pair of war aviator’s glasses, and Button informed the stranger that Bill had a large assortment of fly specks on hand. Myrt Spoor, who is anxious to become better liked by society, is doing all- her shopping in Spring Ledge, there being nothing here that she can’t afford. Truman Bilge almost broke up a holiday game of checkers in Morg Quidd’s blacksmith shop, Monday, when a sparrow flew out of his whiskers. Witt Larcom’s clever, Society money-gatter photoplay has come back from enother company, with two rejection slips, to show that the editor felt twice as bad as usual about it. Chet Lumley, our drayman, borrowed Corny Paine’s second-hand automobile to do some choice gift-buying in Pollywog Tuesday night, and is telling everybody but Corny it is a very rough-riding machine. Chet says that some place on the way home the wind got out of three of the tires, but that he didn’t know it until Corny spoke about it. An active part in the annual, Washington’s Birthday exercises, Friday, was taken by Muley Cannon, who poked the fire several times. Ote Gimber accidentally fell out of his hay- mow carly Saturday morning, and shook himself up considerable, which was nothing more than he deserved, according to Sherm Spoor, because Ote has owed him fifteen cents for more than a year. comicbooks.com