Judge — September 21, 1918 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

OME squelched the When I sit smoke my pipe, the rich and ripe, and brands of prairie hay. old Teutons, over ther their sullen, brooding sk their own whiskers and their hair, then crawl beneath and die. The bread I eat plain because each brunette. small privations we'll endure until we’ ‘euton brutes, but this is com- forting, I'm sure—we do not live on substitutes. down to in comfort, at close of day, I smoke tobacco, The poor beneath not so white as bread of olden tim wot; but eating it is a delight, and I have found it hits the spot. I know it’s made of wholesome grain, as sound as mortal ever met, and I'd be foolish to com- The poor old Teutons, gaunt and worn, must live on pav- ing bricks, Ilearn; and then they «Typ seek that solemn bourne from “Uncle” ib ve ’s Exclusice Weekly birds, I consume it by the mile. it doesn’t cost a cent a throw, lacking words to tell the happiness I know. cheap smoke house is a 7 | Drawn by FE. Frown Pook Oxv Tevtoxs, which no Fritzies e’er return. The air I breathe is pure and sweet, it isn’t shipped from chemists vile; I find each lungful is a treat, and Over There, The Improvement af Hew are you gt etting along with your nephew who is home from college “Pretty well,” replied honest Farmer Hornbeak “Either my notions seem a little less foolish to him, or else he is getting toughened to much as I did. His Trouble “What in the world akes Cranksmith so peculiar?” “Oh, some years ago he flew all to picces over something, and the doctor put him together wrong.” An Impasse She—Why didn’t you marry Lucile? He—Prospective _in- compatability. She—Prospective in- com— He—Uh-huh. You see I thought if we = should ever have a boy he ought to enlist when he’s ecighteen—but she thought twenty-one is young cnough. At any rate, I don’t ‘pear to worry him so alone. S\ P Drawn by C.D. Sais The One in the Windowo—An’ this is what Uncle Eben— Smoxe Fase Own Wutsxers ano Tuer Hate Here’s a letter from George in France. yhat the Germans have massed a million men on the front opposite him. Substitutes: 5y Walt Mason Message to Judge I have fresh air to feed the and I’mentirely But there in Germany, alas! the people breathe all kinds of smoke; they fill their Jungs with mustard gas, then hunt a hole in which to croak. The. clothes I wear are made of cloth, I’m clothed in cloth from neck to feet, and when it’s pressed I cut a swath, as I go humping down the street. I point with pride to rags | wear; the rain won’t leave them all in strips; the passing zephyr will not tear my blooming coat-tails from my hips. But paper clothes alone are seen in Germany, from shoes to hat; the father takes a magazine and clothes his family th that. A comic supplement he takes, and cuts out skirts and coats and pants, and with these fragments then he makes clothes for his cousins and his aunts. Oh, we are pikers if we hoot because we can’t have that or this; compared with Fritz, the hungry Teut, we liv in luxury and bliss. Heavy Odds He says Aunt Nancy—I'm as patriotic as anybody, but I don’t call OVER THERE! + NSN ae el y call a“ oe rest. camp, it fair for our Government to let George fight all those Germans They ought to send somebody to help him, Patriotic “IT thought Wednes- day was your regular night for calling on your girl.” “I visit her only on lightless nights now.”” Always Its Turn “Ah, life is a grind- stone,” sighed the Parlor Philosopher. “Yes, it sharpens cither our wits or our noses,”’said the Mere Man. Playing It Safe Hokus—I make it a rule never to speak ill of my neighbors. Pokus—That’s right. They probably know as much about you as you know about them. comicbooks.com