Judge — June 4, 1921 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

The Injustice of It! By Barrett Looms N Editor was drowsing A Over a manuscript titled mystifyingly, “The Search for the Tan Ewe’s Crypt.” *N. B. (For the very young) It had to be, so you see, for the sake of a rime. When he suddenly bethought him of better things to do, So he swung his typer toward him and wrote to me or He wrote how wise he thought you, or else how funny me, And we, or whichever of us it was, re Tt mu ceiving it felt D. (For the old-timers) It seems a f the world’s iN.B pity to let D. T. best literature just because its historic drop out cause has dropped out of life Wherefore you sat you down and wrote, or else it was I that did, The wisest thing you ever, or my quip: blew off the lid. | Then we, or whichever of us it was, come to think, I believe "twas both, Despatched our wit and wisdom to that editor, who quoth, “Ha! These are what I was waiting for! and mailed us each a check That, while it disappointed us, made each of us cat a peck} {N.B. (For the more mature) When a writer gets a check, even if it is for less than he had hoped, it is more than he ex pected, and hence, his appetite improves. Now this is the point And the reason why I feel there is something out of joint He paid us for our writing; But I'll lay an illegal fizz ‘That neither of us is fighting For a chance to pay him for his! Egg View News Notes By Lestuin Vax Every rains, and a the road | WING to recent heavy horse-shoe pitching contest by the grocery was closed to traffic Sun day afternoon Sherm Spoor is temporarily not playing with the local band. His wife, Myrt, got his sliding trombone out of kilter, using it for a clothes-stomper on wash-day Button Edgin, who laughed extra loud over one nk Nitz’s jokes this morning, made a mystery of the occasion by not try- ing to Borrow half a dollar from Tink. The failure of the driver of a high- powered automobile to reduce its speed | yeste resulted in a reducing of Sherm Spoor’s dog-tax. A stranger suspicioned of being a burglar got loose from Lem Bushnell, our marshal, in the pitch dark Tuesday night Lem, who fired a pistol, shot straight enough, but not in the right direction. | Three Types— Regular. Safety, Self-Filling, $2.50 to $250.00 at best dealers Regular Type—Because it has the largest ink ca- pacity, is for those who expect to do a great deal of writing at one time. Safety Type—The perfect vacation pen because it can be carried in pocket, purse or bag, without the slightest dan- ger of leaking. Self-Filling Type any ink supply. Each and every Waterman's Ideal Fountain Pen is made to represent the highest standard of quality and efficiency in a fountaintpen. Insist upon the genuine Selection and service at best stores everywhere L. E. Waterman Company, 191 Broadway, N. Y. 24 School Street, Boston 129 So. State Strret, Chicago Fills automatically from Make Woterman's Ideal | Fountain Pen Your Vacation _ Companion Waterman's Ideal Fountain Pen turns all outdoors into a convenient place to write. It frees you from the slavery of a desk or inkwell and enables you to do your necessary social or business correspondence without the sacrifice of one precious moment of your vacation. There is a size of holder to fit comfortably any hand, and a point that suits perfectly every individual charac- ter of handwriting. Your dealer will as- sist you in mak- ing a_ proper selection. 17 Stockton Street, San Francisco —- Mountain Dewdrops HE parson of a church in the moun- tains of Virginia was conducting h third revival for the year.‘ Mourner were hard to procure, and he hit a novel inducement for bringing sinners and back- sliders into the fold: One gallon of good Virginia moonshine to those who made a profession of faith; a half gallon to those who had professed and backslided; a quart to all those who had gone bick in to the world for the second time, and so on down the line. Uncle Bill Judson, a well-known char- acter who had to be worked over anew every revival, was being urged to come up to the penitent’s bench and make another start. Uncle Bill spat out his tobacco wad, ejaculating, ‘‘’Tain’t no use, parson, ‘cause I'd only get about a spoonful.” A Sad Undertaking “Is Miss Scribbler still trying to be a photoplay writer?” “No, she gave it up because she found it too sad an occupation.” “Yes. You see, rejection slips always made her cry.”