Judge — August 30, 1919 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

Droves by Cavs unr Sutra Older Sister—No! No! You 1 virls like you! Wt sce that reel. 1 saw it yesterday. It isn’t good for little A Pretty Fair Start “When I was here on my last trip some of the young men of the town were trying to raise funds to start a band,” said the recently arrived guest. “Have they succeeded in doing so yet?” “Well, no; not exactly,” replied the landlord of the Petunia tavern. “They've found it hard work to get the money, but they still have the wind and the desire.” 30 Miss Clancy’s Finish By Akrnur C. Brooxs HE general manager of the Little ‘emo Suspender Company _ leaned back in his chair and smiled as he sent an enveloping glance from bowed head to bowed head down the length of the busy office. It came to rest on the occupant of a desk somewhat withdrawn from the com mon rows of desks, in due deference to au- thority Here was enthroned Miss Clancy, chief clerk and stenographer of the establishment, veteran in point of service and otherwise, maiden from preference and force of circumstances, above the draft age, incredibly competent, and, pianis simo, a last rose of Summer. Penetrating the rhythmic rattle of type writer keys, the general manager's voice in toned, severe and stentorian, “Miss Clancy!” The addressed rose languidly from an office chair as efficient as a straitjacket, and half glided and half wriggled along the strip of rub- ber flooring to where sit her employer. One ascetic limb restrained a red shorthand aman vensis, its twin was coiled around a caisson of caramels, Good morning, Miss Clancy,” greeted the manager, smiling and pointing out a chair “lease be seated.” “Good morning, Mr. Jitney assistant, in the first: treble. She melted into the chair. “Now, Miss Clancy, L have something rather uhem! —important to con to you,” opened the general manager. “I am about to be married nnounced like an exploding grenade. Miss Clancy's eyebrows tlew to her forehesl “Really, Mr. Jitney! May I congratulate you? Sure, Mike!” er, forgetting his manners in his embarrass. ment. “I'll send you a piece of cake.” “Thanks,” responded the head stenographer “What I also intended to say,” hurried on the general manager, “ concerns the future man- agement of this office. Now, Miss Clancy, how long have you been with us? Or do returned his Thank you accepted the general man. “Just: twenty-one years next month,” re turned his head stenographer instantly, and with a suggestion of pique. “Good gracious, twenty-one exclaimed the general manager. “‘Why,”’ he said, and his eyes gleamed with that gleam which denotes an imminent witticism, “you musth, a pro- digious knowledge of stenography But the humor was misplaced, for Miss Clancy was covertly sending pooh-poohing glances at the perfect, rippling coiffure of a nearby stenographer, a young, pink, silly little thing, ‘ow, Miss Clancy,” resumed the general manager, “as you may surmise, I intend to enjoy a. slight—ahem!—vacation. 1 believe that is the usual—ahem! ahem!—procedure.” He paused for her murmur of approval. But this interesting announcement was also unfortunate. Miss Clancy was staring disap- proval of the white-tipped boots of the twitter-