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

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

Marriage By A. B. Boor ARRIAGE is one of the little problems of civilization. There was a when no one ever thought of doing anything of the sort, but gradually the habit swept over the entire educated world, just like the use of tobacco—which antedated it by only a time, way back in the stone age, small margin. Men get married from a variety of motives—for a home, a houseke for some one to answer tke telephone or remind them when to get a haircut. Women have only two rea- sons: they marry cither because they do not want to go to college or because they have been to college. Men suffer most from married life, because they are brought up in the touching old superstition that they were created free and equal. Dallying with the idea of marriage produces a wonderful thrill. It is like seeing how far you can lean out of a window before you fall. Only there are records of people leaning out of windows who have drawn back in time. Every one is supposed to marry in order to have seen life—just as every one is supposed to have gone to Niagara Falls and to have learned to dance. One experience in any of these lines is usually sufficient. You seldom care to repeat. In the old-time circuses there was always a Happy Family of miscellaneous animals. And there was always a sign on the cage telling how long the Happy Family had lived together without a renewal. Marriage is like that. People count the years they have lived together and boast about it. At the end of twenty-five years they give a party and receive congratulations on the successful completion of their endurance test. Their friends present them with silver trophies on this occasion, and if they last out another twenty-five years they get gold prizes. The chief trouble with marriage, according to many who have experienced it, is that each game lasts so long that there is almost never time to play the rubber. Drawn by R. B. Furer There are a million ways to get married. There are only three to get out—suicide, divorce, and murder. A Mere Myth Mr. Outatown—Is there a good show for the tired business man on tonight? The scalper—There ain't no sich animile. The tired business man has no show. He's gotta keep on producin’. A Shrewd Bargain General von Lachschinken—In the exchange of prisoners why do you insist on the return of General von Bullewerfer? He's no good and we're well rid of him. Quartermaster von Krautenfeld—True, General. But he wears forty-two kilos of bronze decorations on his uniform and we can commandcer them to relieve the shortage of metals. Ineffectives The quartermaster general— What do you think of my newly organized force of criminals from the prisons? The field marshal—Nothing but a lot of common thugs and assassins. What do they know about schrecklichkeit? A Disputed Honor Oberst Schweinhirth —What was the charge against Licuten- ant Aviator Luftmann at the court martial? Adjutant Gansschritt—Lese majeste, Oberst. He had the temerity to claim the altitude record in the presence of the “Aw, go on, Billy, be a U-Boat—just while we drop a depth-bomb on ye!” All Highest. comicbooks.com