Judge — August 6, 1921 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

4) Sucking anorange & through a lemon ny stick = Whenyouwhistled through your teeth and everybody within two blocks turned to look back — Riding with the motorman. before him my sad plight and make to him my humil- iating proposition. Finally I put it right up to him and inquired if he, too, perchance, wore pa- jamas, and if so did he happen to carry an emerg. ency outfit strapped to his running board; moreover, would he consider an offer for the extra pair? He had no pajamas, he said, for the reason that he was addicted to the plain, unruffled, old-fash- ioned nightie. He told me I might borrow one and welcome. It was not only Drawn by P. L. Crossy. SupREME MOMENTS IN A Boy’s LIFE. The approach of darkness on the first night of our journey meant more to me than it ever had before. Soon I should be intimately associated with the grandeur of my recent pur- chases. As I looked out of the win- dow, an innocent bystander might have guessed I was glaring at the hills in the distance, but I was trying to determine whether to select the pink or the purple. Ah, how slowly the hours passed between darkness and bedtime! last, however, I found myself in lower eight with the pink-striped ones clutched to my bosom. How bright and lovely they were. I panted to insert myself into them. But strangely enough I had a feeling that, having got into them, I should feel little, if any, desire to parade the narrow Pullman aisle. I did not wish to subject them to the rude, unfeeling comment of the chance acquaint- ance. Then and there I entered into a covenant with myself that none should see how attrac- tively we assimilated— my pajamas and I— none except just me and the stars that peeked in through the half-raised curtain. Surely the stars up in God’s heavens should know a nifty thing when they see it! Yes, they would under- stand. Timidly I let myself into them. And—they were too small—they did not fit—they did not fi-hi-hi-hi-hit me at all! It seemed they were a late model, all made in At. one piece, but were entirely inade- quate for my purposes when consid- ered perpendicularly. And this was true, not only of the pink stripes, but of the companion garment, the gorgeous purple with white silk fastenings. Sadly, and in desperation, I re- dressed myself and went to the smok- ing compartment in search of some one with whom I might take up cer- tain negotiations. The only person there was a tall, dignified man who seemed to be all gummed up with cogitation when I came in, but grad- ually I engaged him in talk and he eventually thawed out. It was two hours, however, before I felt as if I had known him long enough to lay a nightie, but a faded flan- nel nightie—in color some- where between drab and dun. What a contrast to the treasure pajamas in my bag. But there was nothing to do but return to my gloom-laded lower eight and put it on. It was like setting out in life to become an ambassador and ending up as a dressmaker’s husband! For a long time I lay in my berth pondering over what might have been. All about me strong men were snoring great snorts of contentment. But contentment knew not me. Every time I thought of the useless gay garments, my heart sank. Mel- ancholy clutched me. In that mood I made up my mind that there was just one thing to do. My pajamas and I must separate. To have them there beside me, while I wore a drab- bish dun or dunnish drab night- Say IT WitH Four.