Judge — September 3, 1921 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

What Resolutions Are Made Of |AVE A CIGAR, OLD MAN 2” “NO THANKS, MY BOY! I'VE SWORN OFF SMOKING FOR GOOD.” “WELL, PUT ONE IN YOUR POCKET FOR TO-MORROW!"—Passing Show (London). ON THE VALUE OF BooKS—Mayor Moore of Philadelphia, being con- gratulated on the success of his ad- ministration, laughed and observed: “Good workmen are always modest about their work. A woman once said gushingly to Mark Twain: “‘T guess, being such a grand writer as you are, you’re awfully fond of books, aren’t you?” “ ‘Well, that depends,’ drawled the humorist: ‘If a book has a leather cover it has magnificent value as a razor strop. A brief, concise work, such as the French write, is very use- ful to put under the short leg of a wabbly table. Large, old-fashioned books with clasps can’t be beat as missiles to hurl at dogs and cats, A large book, like a geography, is nearly as good as a piece of tin to nail over a broken window pane.’ ”— Louisville Courier-Journal. Wuy SHOULDN’r HE?—Fred B. Johnson, one of the Indiana state public service commissioners, is a Jeffersonian Democrat, and is, in fact, quite democratic in his personal habits. When he drives along the street, away out in the north part of the city, where he lives, and sees someone waiting for a street car he can not resist offering to share his flivver—not in any spirit of unfriend- liness to the street railway system, but for reasons aforesaid. Not long ago he invited a matronly woman to ride, and she accepted, and they started toward the downtown district. Nearing Ohio street, where Mr. Johnson usually turns over to his office in the State Capitol, he advised the woman that he would turn west there. “But I want to go to the Fletcher Anierican National Bank,” said the woman. Very graciously Mr. Johnson drove down Pennsylvania street and was about to stop on the west side of the street, when the woman told him to cross the street and draw up along- side the bank corner. Somewhat amazed, the commis- sioner-driver complied and put down his passenger in the proper place. Then the woman drew out her purse and gave Mr. Johnson 5 cents. He took the money and drove on. —Indianapolis News. Do Words Mean Anything? Sewing Machine Agent—You HIRED A MACHINE FROM US FOUR MONTHS AGO AND HAVE NOT YET MADE ANY PAYMENT. WHAT ABOUT IT? Lady (angrily)—PaYMENTS? Wuat HAVE I TO PAY? I WAS TOLD THE MACHINE WOULD PAY FOR ITSELF!—Kasper (Stock- holm). 4 THE NEW WITCHCRAFT I HAD the mumps, the flue, the pip, the heaves and pedal callouses With complications caused by grippe and infantile paralysis; The doctors said the only hope for me was Psychanalysis. They gave me something for my nerves, but not enough to soporate, They took my pulse to see if it was going at a proper rate; The operator shut the door and started in to operate. He said I had a dreadful case, and if he was to cure it, he Would have to know my history from childhood to maturity— He’d have to scrub my intellect into a state of purity. He picked apart my loveliest dream— my nightmare’s horrid harrass- ment; He told me what my fond desire to take a trip to Paris meant; He asked me things that made me blush and stammer with embar- rassment! He dug up secrets of my soul to speak of which would warrant e’en A flush to dye the features of a Cin- quecento Florentine— I wondered why I wasn’t kept in everlasting quarantine! But when he’d learned the worst 0’ me, and every little blot o’ me, Lo, not an ache or pain was left in any part or spot o’ me— My ailments all had vanished in a psychical phlebotomy ! I’m physically sound—but O ye suf- fering men and women all, Beware of curing sickness by explor- ing the subliminal! You might as well be ill as to discover you’re a criminal! —Ted Robinson in Cleveland Plain Dealer. ONE OF Love’s PROBLEMS “T thank you for the flowers,” she said, And then she smiled and dropped her head, “T’m sorry for the words I spoke last night— Your sending flowers proved that you were right— Forgive me!” He forgave. And as they walked and talked be- neath the bowers, He wondered hooinell had sent those flowers.—The Crucible. comicbooks.com la be te se