Judge — April 20, 1918 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

An Adventure in Absent- Mindedness By Raymonn Browne OT onecent. I went through my pockets again to make sure. Then realized what had happened. Had I been robbed, had my train been wrecked, the uncomfortable circumstances in which I found my- self would have weighed less heavily onme. This thing lacked any com- pensating element of excitement or dangerous adventure. To be put off a train, stranded, simply because I had forgotten to transfer my money when I changed my clothes! Fate, Fate, you have no sense of the dramatic! The station agent directed me to the town proper, several blocks away. Lugging my suitcase, I walked along a lane which an almost obliterated sign pointed out as “ Main Street.” On the way I reviewed my stay at the hotel the night before. I remembered tipping the waiter and the boy in the morning, and paying my more legitimate bill at the desk. Then I went upstairs to write up some orders and changed into my serge suit just before leaving. I reflected joy- lessly that I was already four days behind my itinerary. Every time I changed hands on the valise, I uttered fresh profanity against my chronic absent-mindedness. The sign on the sthtion had read “Walliston.” I had never heard of the place. It seemed as if I might Draton by Norstax Axtuoxy “See what an industrious boy I have, Mes. Jones. He seems to adore beating rugs.” become intimately acquainted with the townlet unless some rustic burgher would lend me six dollars on my simple but honest face,—with perhaps my suitcase as security. I hoped the Wallistonians were a kindly dis- posed people, with money in the bank. The center of the metropolis was marked by two stores and the “ White House” common to rural towns of two hundred inhabitants or less. It was to this estab- lishment that I looked for aid. Entering its portals in my most prosperous manner, I approached the clerk. Hastily passing over the origin of the difficulty, I ex- lained my predicament. He called to a to- pacco-cheving individual who turned out to be the proprietor, and repeated my story with marginal comments which were charm- ingly frank. After performing some minor gymnastics with his—his tobacco, the worthy host pronounced the verdict, a flat, final neg- ative. It was accompanied by a suggestion which need not be repeated here. Desperate, I prevailed upon him to look over the contents of my valise. Though, as he made clear, that didn’t make no difference. He seemed to take considerable pleasure, however, in examining my safety razor, mili- tary brushes, shirts and ties. He went through them with all the thoroughness of a born cus- toms inspector. I had to tear my wife’s let- ters away from him. Yanking out my brown suit, he thumbed the quality of the cloth, measured the length of the trousers on his own person, and began to go through the pockets. I have seldom seen so delightful a color scheme. The clerk was a sort of bluish green with chagrin, the old man in his surprise ex- hibited a rich brown trickle of tobacco juice, and I myself was rather a flaming red under the stress of mingled emotions. Snapping the Drawn by W. K. Starrett Tue Curse or Ricnes “I wonder how much o’ this I ought to declare in my income tax!” grip shut, I fled into the cool twilight, but not until I had fluttered under their bulging eyes the crispy green singles and the golden fives and tens. comicbooks.com