Judge — August 2, 1919 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

ing you to condign punish- ment!—was the Angel, wig by Hepner, shoes by Van robes by the village dress- maker out of last winter's par- lor portieres. His wings at top were badly sunburned— he'd been swimming too. He carried a gilt jigger which at a distance bore a close resem- glance toa banana—and migt be almost anything but the kitchen stove. Tobit looked uncomfy, the angel sweetly serene, as people always do when YOU are in the wrong. Like an oasis in the desert J. B. Robie’s “Flowers and Objects of Art.” The flowers were espesially easy to contemplate; even if you're not on intimate terms with them, at least you know you're not looking at vegetables or shoe-trees. Objects of art? They’ re—objects of art—tank- ards and thingummys, carved and filigreed and embossed— clocks that won't run, curious china critters, sex and genus unknown—the sort of stuff you give to people as wedding presents, they don’t cost much look like an awful lot Here the custodian became highly suspicious of my deep interest in treasures. He could find no discernible change since his last inspec tion, which only heightened his bewilderment. From the p' tures he looked at me, men- tally estimating my market value, and if ever man’s countenance one ninety-nine, his did. My criminal tendencies he detected at once, but how to get the deadwood on mel could see puzzled him. Sniffing, he resumed his seat and somnolent attitude, but this time he slept with c and his Drawn ty P. D. Jonxsox Wuy Nor Tir a registered one eye open. Hard as times are I'd have paid money to see Leon y Estcosura’s “Soldiers Resting.” By their kit and *coutrement you'd say they started relaxing shortly after C. Columbus invaded our sacred quiet and laid the foundation for all our future troubles; so by now you'd think they'd entirely recovered from that tired feeling. But there they were still at it. One sojer sat on the ground cleaning his sword, each gory spot a head loppéd off that day; a second, holding up a post, rolled his own; upstage a confrére examined his gloves, pondering whether to wash ’em or wait till dry clean- ing was invented; while the Doug Fairbanks of his time had ridden right on to the front porch amid the madding throng, without troubling to check his horse. Oh, well, I believe in making yourself at home. And A STRING wn Arounp Liperty’s Fincer so Sue Won’t Forcet Wuy We Foucut? aking of home, I know where you can get the best Art is long and time is fleet- sp —Say no more. Attaboy! ing but neither one’s filling. “When I hear those waffles callin’ Then I don’t heed nothin’ else.” Beelzebubble “What did the Colonel say when you announced me? I told you my name would call up associations. Didn’t it, now?” “Maybe so. He said ‘the devil!"” When a Missive Needs a Friend “This letter is marked ‘Dictated but not read.’” “And that last part is a prophecy. Into the waste basket with it.” Financial Catastrophe Willis—What’s the matter with Bump? Gillis—He was playing on a margin and fell off the ed; comicbooks.com