Judge — October 30, 1920 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

i “Puysictans Hastexen to My Coor, Att Sorts or Wearons Brincinc” Shot to Pieces By Watt Mason Illustration by Raven Barton “Ul VE been laid up with ailments dire, but now I'm convales cent, producing feebly. from my lyre, some anthems iri- descent. Physicians hastened to my coop, all sorts of weapons bringing, and pharmacists, a dismal troop, bell were always ringing. Theundertakers thought at last they had me where they wished me, and doubtless they re- marked, “Dod Gast!" when from their grip fate fished me. There came a day when I arose and found that [ was better, and I put on my costly clothes, my shoestring and my sweater. “T'll go down town, methinks,” [ said, ‘‘and tell old friends and neighbors, how close I came to being « and done with all my labors. [ll tell to sympathetic chums the story of my ailing. of how I heard the muffled drums and saw the white boats sailing.” And down through town I toiled that day, by slow and easy stages; it seemed as though I'd been away for years, and years, and ages! At last I reached the old time seat, and there was Ike the hatter; but where was Pete—old Wall-eyed Pete—with whom I'd hoped to chatter? Old Pete had been my dearest friend through foul and sunny weather; for months on end, for years on end, we'd met and talked together. And now I longed to tell Old Pete a story long and thrilling; unless I laid it at his feet the yarn would make no killing. But Wall-Eyed Pete was not in sight to hear my helpful clatter. “Where is that weary wall-cyed wight?” [asked of Ike the hatter “Three weeks ago,” thus Ike replied, “Old Pete was badly busted; an auto climbed his starboard side, and broke some castings rusted.” “This is the bitterness of life,” I said, to Ike the hoary; “I've been through all the depths of strife, and have a bang-up story; and I had hoped to find old Pete, who'd sit right here and nd ‘twould have been an honest treat to see his kind Id not hear a word, or think my uffering absurd beside what he’s listen; eyes glisten. But now he we tale alluring; he'd find my enduring. “So [ must seck old Splay-Foot Jim, and tell my tale of fretting; some tender sympathy from him I’m almost sure of getting. ar your chance is pretty slim,” said Ike, that measly “things are not well with Splay-Foot Jim; his fortunes have been bitter. Out in the woods, nine miles from here. he dodged behind a boulder, and some one took him for a deer, and shot him through the shoulder.” “Then you must listen, Ike,” I said, “to my recital doleful for one who's chin-chinned with the dead must shed of tears a bowlful.” He gave a snort, as in disgust, his feet went pitter-patter; then there was but a cloud of dust where had been Ike the hatter