Judge — February 1, 1919 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

but I’ve my record to maintain. And so I cry, ‘“Ods blood, my friend! I wish this storm would never end! It gives the system tone and pep, lends vigor to the laggard step! It makes the blood rush on amain, through every artery and vein! It is the tonic that restores my youth to me and other bores. So let the tem- pest hold its sway—there’s noth- ing like a winter day.” And then I strike a slippy place, and slide a furlong on my face, and break my back and nineteen ribs, but I must spiel the old time fibs, pretending that I like to fall and bust my head against a wall. ‘ Drawn by E. Puonns “I Hate tae Tearest’s Swaruixc Roar” A Gradual Approach Dasher—Going back to Mrs. Dobkins’ boarding- house? — I The Hard -Worked Optimist . ee ou used to detest the By Watt Mason Returned Yank—Yep; but after three months in a German prison T’s hard to be an optimist; it’s trying camp I've got to work my way to on the nerves, I wist. a full meal by degrees. Sometimes I get so tired and sore, I say, “I'll chortle never more; I'll let this smiling graft go hang, and can the Sunny Jim harangue.” When once a man has made a rep as being full of mirth and pep, he’s got to live up to his fame, though sick and sore, and blind and lame. He still must walk with buoyant 3 tread, pretend he’s glad he isn’t dead. L Now, winter is a beastly bore; I hate the ad tempest’s snarling roar; I hate the everlast- ing snows, I hate the frost that nips my nose; I hate the winds that zip and whiz; they give me colds and rheumatiz. I hate the dull and leaden skies, and long for sulphurous Julys. But I have won a cheap renown as one who loathes a scowl or frown, as one who looks up from the pike for silver linings and the like, and so I do not dare to say my thoughts about a winter day. I go down town some bitter morn, to buy a poultice for my corn. The wind is fresh from arctic shores, and round my form it shrieks and roars; there’s gooseflesh up and down my back, I’m almost frozen in my track; my ancient hinges creak and whine, Ihave lumbago in my spine. I meet Mit Wilhite, and, “Oh, chee! This is the limit, hey?” says he. + And I would give a million bones, if I might say, in trumpet tones, “This ding- donged weather is the worst that r was by mortal curst! We ought to take the weather seers, and amputate their yard-long cars. There is no sense in such a storm; it’s Drawn by A. Macuxytat been a month since I was warm.” This outburst would be safe and sane, crane a. ee Se : Outside the Pale By G. Vent Trier I" kept her awake nights. Often she got up at dawn to try it again—once more. A dozen times during the day the thought troubled _ her. She couldn’t eat her meals in peace. The subways and surface cars were especially disturbing. Every time she looked in the face of a modish young girl she became excited, resolving inwardly to make another attempt. At the end of six months she gaveitup. She couldn’t wear her hair over her ears; it made her look a freak. With Apologies to B. Franklin A penny saved is one cent more toward the cabaret fund. Aggravating Mae—She is always gossiping. Jess—Y and the aggravating part is that it is about people you don’t know “Tur Kaiser 18 REPORTED SICK AGAIN” “Norio triviat, I nore.” comicbooks.com