Judge — December 21, 1918 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

Drawn by A.B. Wauxen AnotHer Woman’s Ricut Sister—Sh! It’s Santa Clausette sure enough. His Place By Lesuie Van Every ULLY an hour before, while the local band was F playing “The Star Spangled Banner,” the morn- ing train had arrived to discharge of its passengers a half dozen soldiers returned from France, and then to pull forth on its westward way again. Ata dinner-table, far from the village’s main square and the scene of a celebration, sat the mother, father, brother and sister of Bob—Bob who had so gladly en- listed two years before, and departed with other town boys to enter the Old World fight. They were four souls with but a single thought, as they silently looked, with tear-filled eyes, at Bob’s plate, and the chair which he always had occupied in those other days. How different things might have been! But hold! Let us join them that we may see things for ourselves. Why! The plate is right side up, and on it is tempting food! And the chair! Sure enough, there sits Bob! It’s his first meal back home! Just watch him eat! Oh, boy! \ A Pleasurable Occasion “I was a member of the large and intelligent audience in Hefilefinger’s Hall last night,” said old Gaunt N. Grimm, “and greatly enjoyed your speech on the burning issues of the day.” “Tam indeed flattered, I assure you, sir!” sonorously replied the Hon. Bray Lowder. “And may I ask what portion of it especially pleased you?” “The entire oration. I have always been very fond of puzzles, and it gave me much pleasure to try to discover what were the burning issu@& of the day, and, having done so, why we should not let them burn.” According to Precedent “Soup, soft-boiled eggs—and what else?” briskly inquired Heloise, of the rapid-fire restaurant. “Hold on!” returned the gent with the flowing mustache. “What’s the matter with you? I don’t want any soup or soft- boiled eggs. I——” “Gwan!” interrupted the young lady. “A guy with a lip lambrequin like yours always wants soup and soft-boiled eggs.” Business as Usual By Coninxe Rockwait Swain TH melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, When Father knows his petty cash is doomed to disappear; In chains of ancient slavery his tender hopes lie dead, And visions of a happier dawn forevermore have fled. He dreamed of tipless holidays, when war jobs called the men, But the brightness of his smile is gone, as Yuletide comes again. The janitress and butlerette they scored an hour ago; The chauffeuse and the barberine with touching kindness glow; The lady ash-collector and the damsel with the ice, The belle-hop and the eirand-girl annex the usual price. The proud head waitress at the club puts on a smiling face; The haughty elevatorette unbends with sprightly grace; So, like the damp December snow, his assets melt away, As from his grasp the shekels flow, through all the gloomy day. Optical Strain Hokus—I can read him like a book. Pokus—But he’s such a small type I should think you'd ruin your eyes. | Droen by Raven Basson See Aut tue Prerry Tuincs Tagg Bertin Is Goinc to Have Hancixe on rts Muntctran Cifustuas Tree Tis Year! comicbooks.com