Judge — February 14, 1920 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

= wie ies ai? Anxious Husband (who is momentarily expecting an addition to his family )—I Susan—No, it’s a man come for the money for KYIS He Voted, Did Andy—Andy, a Negro porter at a Broadway theater, belongs to a lodge. The other night the lodge met to vote on the question of changing mecting rooms, but Andy didn’t get there. Yesterday we met him on Broadway and he said the organization was to have new quarters. “Did you vote fora change?” we asked. “T wasn’t at de meetin’,” repiied Andy, “but I voted by peroxide.”— New York World. Desperate Case—The other day a negro went into a drug store and said: “Ah wants one ob dem dere plasters you dun stick on yoah back.” “1 understand,” said the clerk. “You mean one of our porous plasters.”” “No, sah. I don’t want none of yoah porous plasters. I wants de bes’ ‘one you got.” —St. Louis Republic. is it a boy? ¢ coal.— Passing Show (London). Unfinished Business—Sambo—Say, Doc, what was that you gave me? I dreamed I was chasin’ a large chicken and just as I was about to grab ’im I woke up. Doctor—Why, that was a quarter of a grain of morphine. Sambo—Please squirt twenty more grains in me—I wantah ketch that chicken.—Medical Pickwick. Well Defined—Sam and Rastus were seated in a Jim Crow car on a southern railway, en route to a plantation for the cotton picking season. They were dis- cussing politics, with particular reference to the coming state elections. Rastus was a rabid partisan of the incumbent representative. “Well,” said Sam, “Ah likes him all right, Ah guess, but his platform ain’t no good.” “Platfo’m!” snorted Rastus. “ Plat- fo’m! Say, nigger, doan’ you know dat a political platfo’m is jes’ like a platfo’m on one o’ dese yere railroad cahs—hit ain’t meant to stan’ on; hit’s jes’ meant to git in on!’’—Pistsburgh Chronicle-Tele- graph. ty Pay Day—The workman was digging. The wayfarer of the inquisitive turn of mind stopped for a moment to look on. “My man,” said the wayfarer at length, “what are you digging for?” The workman looked up. “Money,” he replied. “Money!” ejaculated the amazed way- farer. “Apd when do you expect to strike it?”” “On Saturday,” replied the workman, as he resumed opera‘ions.—London Tit- Bits. The Lost Cause—“ How'd you make out with your radium mine?” “Lost money.” “Though you sold all the stock at a cent a share.” “TI did. But it cost more than that to print the stuff.”—Lowisville Courier- Journal. His Quietus—Mrs. Knott—Didn’t your husband rave when you showed him the dressmaker’s bill? Mrs.Spot—Rather. Mrs. Knou—And how did you quiet him? Mrs. Spott—I showed him the milliner’s and then he became simply speechless.— London Tit-Bits. Such Accidents Don’t Happen in “ Mais—est-on bien site qu'il est fou?” “Je vous crois. Il est sorti de la cabine téléphonique en disant qu'il avait ew tout de suite la communication!” “Why, certainly he is insane.” “Yes, he must be—came out of the tele- phone booth muttering he’d got his number the first time he tried.” —Le Rire (Paris).