Judge — August 17, 1918 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

As the Captain strolled into a Philadelphia hotel in advance of his appointment he thought he saw a fam ure in a young woman some distance away in the lounge. As he approached, the young woman caught sight of him and with an air of alarm settled herself so low in a capacious chair as to be hidden by its back. The Captain was not satisfied as he peered into the room, and going about entered from the front. The 1 jumped up confused as he came upon her. Aston- shment and sternness were in his face. “What are you doing here, Gertude asked. “I’m waiting, papa,” she replied, taking his hands and tiptocing up to kiss him. “Waiting for what? For whom? Is your mother with you?” He was still stern. 0, papa.” “Does she know you are her “No, papa.” “For whom are you waiting, then?” “For—my husband, papa.” “Married? Without my knowledge! Without your mother’s! “Yes, papa. I couldn't help it. 1 wanted him, and he wanted me. And he’s going to France!” * the Captain “Ts it young Morris?” “No. I broke my engagement with him long ag ry Smith No. I never cared for him seriously.” Are you a fickle girl? I don’t understand you!” am not fickle! I love my husband. I never loved any one else “But, Gertrude, this seems almost scandalous! Perhaps it’s quite scandalous! What is it, secret as it has been, but an clopement?” The girl drew herself up with something like dignity, her eyes reddening. And tears came. “But you and mamma eloped, papa, when you were a private and she was a colonel’s daughter. She has told me. And there was no war then! The Captain was silent. He had no logic to meet this. attack “But whom did you marry? “The finest chap in the world! Here he comes!” And Private Dillmary came up, saluted, and stood at attention. The Usual Way “Well, what have you done about it?” “Done?” returned J. Futler Gloom. “Why, I haven’t done anything about it, of course. I have been too busy writing pieces to the papers demanding that something be done.” Wartime Economies: éy Walt Mason “Uncle” Walt’s Exclusive Weekly Message to Judge USED to buy me rich cigars, in peaceful times of long ago, the kind they sold at high class bars, and charged a man two bits a throw. Now, humble twofers made of hay, they are the only kind I choose; and oft I hear the people say, “Some gent is burning his old shoes.” But I enjoy them passing well, for while I smoke my rank cheroot, such thougnts as these within me dwell: “I’m helping, thus, to swat the Teut. If L can bring the Teuton grief, and make the wall-eyed Kaiser sore, I'll gladly smoke a cabbage leaf, and dream it came from Cuba’s shore.” My pants are bagging at the kne I can’t afford to have them pressed; my hat’s as musty as old cheese, and there are eggstains on my vest. The women of my household rise and say I am a rank disgrace; I am enough to jar the eyes of all the folks who pass the place. I know I’m looking like the deuce, or like a wooden Chinese joss; at last I have a good excuse for Drawn by E Froner being such a total loss J dears,” I say, “’twould be a sin to blow in money for new rags, while armies raise their frightful din, and flaunt their well-known battle flags. I proudly wear these wretched pants, this lid that Noah threw away; I feel that thus I’m aiding France, and making Wilhelm’s whiskers gray. MES, I've always longed to wear old clothes, but never dared to try the stunt until we were beset by foes, and sent our armies to the front. ‘Today old Mrs. Bulger came in solemn grandeur to my flat; she came to work the same old game, to pull my limb, to pass the hat. “We wish to found a home,” she said, “for maiden aunts of wintry years; we will support them till they’re dead, then furnish them with shrouds and bie It is a grand, a noble work, it is a most majestic plan, and I am sure you will not shirk, but dig up like a little man.” Old Mrs. Bulger never failed in peaceful times to shake my soul; she stood around until she nailed the major portion of my roll. I used to dread her blight- ing frown, I feared her large majestic face; I'd no excuse to turn her down, and tell her she was off her base. But now I cried, with noble scorn, “Aroint thee, woman, and avaunt! When all the world by war is torn, who cares about “My “Aroint Ter, Wostax, axo Avaunt!” the maiden aunt? Go, chase yourself, and never more, till Prussia makes for peace her bid, shall I admit you at my door, or drop a kopeck in your lid.” And thus I’m saving cents and dimes, and all the standard brands of mon; I feel I must, in these stern times, do what I can to whip the Hun. comicbooks.com