Judge — December 27, 1919 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

Rules for Everything ung Hopeful Where She Halts—"\ woman can do any intellectual work that a man is replied the obstinate woman may write tragedies and com pose symphonies and so forth, but “But what?” I never in my life saw could keep score at a ball game ington Star one who Wash Nothing Scandalous—\ tion between two women, one was hard of hearing, interested the pas sengers of a Glenwood Avenue car “T saw her on the street down town conversa f whom with a man.” “Ts that so?” “Yes, and it too.” “The very idee.” “TL never before.” No, nor me either.” But you can never tell.” e truth?” was after ten o'clock, suspected her of flirting “Do you know her h Why Not This? No, [ain't never seen him close.” Well, he is a big, fat man.” Does he wear a brown “Yes.” Glasse Yes.” “Smoke a pipe? as deepest disappointment in s voice as she exclaimed esticks! Then it was only her after all."—Younpstown Tele gram Slightly Anticipatory Driver! Driver Suggestive was just finishing an operation on a patient when a fire started in a warehe across the road, illuminating the whole operating room. The surgeon turned to the nurse and dryly said: “Nurse, the patient is coming to. I think you had better draw the shades I don’t want him to think the operation hasn't been a success."—Journal of the Imerican Medical Association, A widely known surgeon Oh! Specialty! A doctor in the olden days Was trained and skilled in many ways There was no illness known to men That did n ull within his ken; The nose, the eye, the ear or throat, The dermis or the stomach’s coat, The arm, the leg, the scalp, the chest, Or anything beneath one’s vest He knew them all and knew them well And could their various functions tell But doctors of these modern days Are trained and skilled in diff’rent ways Each knows the illness of some part; One knows the nose, one hears the heart One using an ophthalmoscope With naught but optics tries to cope; Jones feels the arms; Briggs pulls the legs While Brown taps chests that sound like kegs. The patient anxiously must bleat Say, Doc, which nostril do you treat? Journal of the American Medical Asso ciation A Hopeless Gase—A doctor came up toa patient ina lunatic asylum, slay him on the back and said: “Well man, you're all right. You can run and write your folks that you'll be back home in two weeks as good as new.” The patient went off gaily to write his letter. He had it finished and sealed, but as he was about to: affix the stamp the latter slipped through his fingers to the tloor, alighted on the back of a cockroach that was passing and stuck. The patient hadn’t seen the cockroach. W he did was his escaped postage stamp zig zagging aimlessly across the flcor and following a crooked trail up the wall and across the ceiling. In depressed silence he tore up the letter that he had just written and dropped the pieces on the floor. “Two weeks!” he said. “I won't be out of here in three years.""—London Tit-Bits. comicbooks.com