Judge — July 30, 1921 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

SS SRNR A RE oa ae Drawn by Ganvxen O. Rea Irate and Near. GOT YER PAD ALL NIGHT! ted Owoner—Now THEN, DAD BURN YE! EVEN EF I pon’T SEE YE, I’VE ’ yoU BOYS ARE GOIN’ T’ GIT A TANNIN’ EF I HAVE T’ CAMP HERE Butter Late Than Never ND remember,” repeated my wife, as the 8:15 pulled in, “that the most important thing 4 is the wutter. Please don’t come home without it this time. And don’t get cheated on the weight.” These parting admonitions, graven on my mind by the memory of what had previously passed between us on occasions when I had forgotten the butter and been cheated on the weight, obtruded themselves between my eyes and the headlines of my paper all the way down to the c This time I would get the thing off my mind at once. I would leap into the grocery before going to the office. “Give me a pound of butter,” caimed, “and please hurry.” “A pound of butter,” the man repeated, dubiously, looking around the store. “Ah, yes, butter. There she is.”” Inoticed then that his was a strange face. He said he was the new proprietor, but that meant nothing” to me at the mo- ment. Men come and go, yet butter is sold. Perching my- self on a stool, I launched into a re- teading of the head- lines, Ifinished the head- lines and two fruity divorce stories then Tose, expecting to see my package ready. It wasn’t. The man Was still at the back of the store. I ex- Drawn by Cuester 1. G By Joun CuapMan HiLper “Haven’t forgotten me, have you?” I inquired, kindly, approaching him. “You the man wanted a pound of butter?” I nodded. “Must it be an even pound?” I nodded again. “Well, sir,” he replied, with a sigh, “T’m weighing it. Tricky stuff to weigh, butter is.” With that he turned to the scales again. There was a chunk of butter on the pan. The indicator indicated that it weighed a pound and three quarters. With a nerv- ous slash the man lopped off a goodly portion. The indicator dropped to a little over a pound. The butter man’s spirits dropped, too. “And I almost got it a minute ago,” he complained. He added a thin slice. The scale said not quite three quarters. He added a bigger slice. The scale said one pound three ounces. The new proprietor put down the knife and rolled up his sleeves. His face took on a certain grimness. “Tl get it right if it takes all day,” he muttered. He did not consider my time, but I rather admired him. He had faith. And faith will move mountains. It cer- tainly moved a mountain of butter. After watching for an hour, I began to get restless. I took off my coat and hat. “Here,” I said, “let me try. I bet you I can do it.” “Bet you can’t,” he countered, sur- rendering the knife. I bet him a dollar and lost. Then I bet him two dollars and lost. It was beginning to get hot. I took off my collar. The butter was so soft from manipulation that it wouldn’t stay on the knife. “Let’s take a fresh hunk and start all over again,” I suggested. I wasn’t going to be beaten by mere butter. Besides, I wanted to win back my money, Customers came, waited a while and went out. But we kept resolutely at it. Carving, betting, weighing and losing. Our form improved with practice. Some- times we came within an ounce or two of the even pound. Talk about excite- ment! At noon we had completely used up ARDE “1 Courp Be Harry with Erruer One.” 5s one tub of butter. I suddenly remem- comicbooks.com