Judge — December 18, 1920 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

Drawn by Huse Contin Momas ‘Transportation Dirricucties Second Avenue Magic By Josern P. Haxrauan HAD afforded my friend O'Brien an opportunity of listening toa man named McGill play golf, and the afternoon passed so delightfully for both of us that on the way home, O'Brien rewarded me with a magic formula. “You get off the ‘L’ at umpteenth Street and Second avenue, he said. “Walk two blocks north and stand in front of the little cigar store at the corner. Between six-thirty and seven, a magician minus hat and collar will stroll along and stop to sur- vey the tobacco bargains. He'll be smoking a clay pipe. Step up and ask him the time.” At the appointed place, that evening, I accosted the magician. Hewas staring at the display of toba nd puffed at a clay pipe. “Will you kindly tell me what time it is,” I said. “Green River,” he whispered, without removing his gaze from the cigar-store window; “Dewar's Burke's Irish and Heanessey’s Three Star; Hollands, Sloe, Jamaica, Demerara, and Madeira Port. One bottle ata time. Put a name to it.” did. “Back in five minutes,” he breathed, and was gone. While awaiting the magician’s return I happened to cast my eyes upwards, to behold a girl looking down at me from a sccond-story window. We both smiled. “Remarkably nice-looking.” I soliloquized, “but indubitably wise.” The magician suddenly re-appeared with that to which no really sensible person can reasonably object, and he smuggled it to me adroitly and I paid him, and waved my hand to the girl, and went home. There was no deviation from routine procedure on the following evening. The magician was there, the girl was there; I was there. and everything was ex- tremely agreeable all ‘round. And alike it was on the next, save that when once properly accoutred by the magician I was ready to depart, a man stepping from a doorway adjoining the cigar store touched me on the arm. “Good evening,” he said, pleasantly. “I am the Senor José Tierra-del-Fuego. Will you not come upstairs. My daughter will be glad to know you.” Realization, swift and complete, swept over me. ‘The old * gentleman was Spanish; the daughter was Spanish. For three successive nights I had come and stood beneath her window. I, a duly married man, was now being admitted to the househo! that I might pay my addresses to the Seforita. There could be no backing out. Triflers hitherto at the shrine of Castilian beauty had more than once been sent to their eternal reward neatly poignarded in the left ventricle. I slipped the magician’s parcel to the Sefor. “Run upstairs with this, Don,” I said. “I'll return immewiately after using the telephone booth.” Then I moved Of course I did not return; but I recounted the circumstances to O'Brien, and he owns the cigar store now, and the girl, and, by all accounts, the Sefior José. Any time you wish a good smoke and a cheap one, drop in at O'Brien’s—you know where it is—and ask him casually if he ever listened to a man named McGill play golf. Taking No Chances Browne—What caused you to withdraw all of your money from the Fleetfoot Bank? Towne—Every time I entered to make a deposit [I found the cashier with his hat on! Draven by Carvent Ssarrn dAunt—I woutps’t po tuat! Bil—You cas't!