Judge — October 12, 1918 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

Anxious to Help: 4y Walt Mason “Uncle” Walt's BE: HE stress of wartime spurs and quickens one’s soul, that basked in ease; last night, while I was stealing chickens, I had such thoughts as these. In times of peace I loafed and idled, as slothful as can be, save when with righteous ire I bridled, if some one chided me. I hated things that looked like labor, I scoffed at honest toil, and looked with pity on my neighbor, who manicured the soil. I’d eat a large and costly -dinner, and in my rocker rock, and I would say, “Sleep is a winner—I’ll slumber round a block.” But stress of wartime saw me waken, it roused my pep and grit; I said, “All men should earn their bacon, each one must do his bit.” _ So now, when darkness round me thickens, I go my _ noiseless way, and swipe a lot of drowsy chickens, and eat the same next day. I earn the coin to buy my torches, no effort do I shirk; I’m growing skilled at climbing porches, and second story work. What a Relief! HE traffic cop raised his hand and the motorist pulled Witt up abruptly. “Just a minute,” s “Ugh.” “Could I sell you a ticket to the policemen’s picnic?” here was a long pause. And then— “Well, I should say you could,” chirped the motorist. “I thought I was pinched.” id the cop. A Proper Study “Shall we send our son to a co- educational college?” “I'm in favor of it. It won't hurt him to learn something about women along with his other education.” Genius “What makes you think Jim has got executive ability?” “Because none of his creditors can collect from him.” Been There Traveler—You cannot tell how terrible an experience it is to be lost in the desert. Joneson—Oh, yes, I can. I used to live in a dry town. 1 Last Nicut, Winte 1 Was Sreatixc Circ ens, 1 Hap Sven Tuovcurs as Turse. Sere ee ce er ree lusive Weekly Message to Judge The thought of toil no more affrights me, or makes me fret or chafe, and my dark lantern nicely lights me to crack a grocer’s safe. ‘The thought of idleness I'm scorning, I loathe the idle dub; and when | wake at early morn- ing, I feel I've earned my grub. An ear of corn for which you've labored tastes better, bet your life, than roasted turkey deftly sabered with idler’s carving knife. The finest sauce that’s been in- vented is work that draws the sweat; it makes the weary soul con- tented that has been wont to fret. A million gents who, in times olden, loafed round and gathered grease, have found the tonic, priceless, golden, that gives the spirit peace. They’ve shaken off the sloth that filled them and clogged their minds with grime, the laziness that would have killed ten years before their time. he world must labor like the dickens, must leave its bed of ease; last night, while I was stealing chickens, I had such thoughts as these. The Past Forgiven the office-boy, who is getting five a week, and is convinced that he is within the category of “employees Draws by C.D. Barenrom In Germany ‘Teaching the young idea “kultur” in shooting. essential to the success of the enterprise,” asked the boss last to raise his stipend to fifty. “Why, Willie,” the potentate somewhat pompously replied, un- blushingly using the old stuff once more, “when I was your age 1 worked for half what you're getting now.” “Aw, come on, boss,” coun- tered Willie. “All I want is the raise; I ain't lookin’ for no lesson in early American history.” As Usual “Have the police made any progress in that murder case?” “Oh, yes, they’ve got ten theories now regarding it.” A Novel with a Purpose Author—One of my love stories brought me over 100,000 dol- lars. Friend—Which one? Author—The one I began at Palm Beach, and finished last week at the altar. comicbooks.com