Judge — October 1, 1921 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

it implied the immediate proximity of a lawyer. was the alumna of some fashionable reform school. And so she always had to eat seven or eight plates of ice cream. It was a terrible experi- ence for a young girl. Sometimes she didn’t get over it for days. It was the same way with the boys, when they asked her if they might kiss her. She was deprived of any really adequate defense. She couldn't of course say “Of course not!” And of course it wouldn’t do merely to say “Of course!” She could only say “Sir!” with the accent on the ante-penultimate, and turn away in disgust—the way the other girls did. The result was that on sev occa- sions she very narrowly escaped being kissed to death, and her father had to get her life insured. For Lucy was getting to be very pretty now. Besides, she was a blonde with practically golden hair; and girlines like that, you probably know, are always kissed early and often and easily, and seldom wholly recover. Indeed, if not married in time—and often even then-——they have that over-kissed look even at thirty-seven. You wouldn't believe it, until you looked them up in the dictionary, how many important words are made out of O’s. Opedildock, for instance, and Osteopathy, and Obese. Can you imagine the sadness of a life deprived of such? Think how terri- ble to have neither Opportunity nor Opposition—to get along without Reason or Common-sense! When I tell you that Lucy de Pression lived to be twenty without ever once hav- ing used Rouge, I think you will ad- mire her enough for me to go on. Into this sweet young existence for Lucy was so pure she had never said Gosh or even Golly—there came a nice young man. Now take a long breath and we will continue. . All right?) Well— His name was Robert. Lucy didn't call him that, though. She couldn't. She called him Mr. Merryfinger. Even when she knew enough to let him kiss her, which wasn’t till after the first hour or so, she didn’t call him Robert, or even Robby. She had to call him Bert. Mr. Merryfinger, although he had once been a District M nger Boy and had yellow digits, possessed a proud and sensitive nature. He hated looked like one of Gamaliel Harding's cousins on election night. A poet was Bertie Merryfinger; and poets, though they may not know how to write, usually know hew to love. This a great truth; so great that it may be applied also to tin peddlers, piano movers, and white mice. But Bertie, even if he did have pink eyelashes at times, was no white mouse. When he began to hug a girl, she usually excused her- self for a minute, and went out and put on one of old Aunt Abigail's heavy corsets. Then she found she (Continued on page 31) him well CQ to be called Bert—but what can you c do, when a beautiful blonde has her arms about you and is rubbing face Wwe powder into your cheek? You have to bear it without a groan, and look happy. Bert succeeded well. He 17 The Family Dentist. comicbooks.com