Judge — December 17, 1921 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

Tale of the Tortured Terrier By BERT ADAIR SEELHOFF. THEY say I’m mad! Of course I am, I’ve got good cause to be. For days I haven’t had a bite; My ribs you piainly see. I haven’t even had a drink— They’ve chased me day and night, I haven’t even had a bath— I know I look a fright. The trouble started with some boys Who, now I know, were bad. | took it all in fun at first, Although it made me sad. They chased me ’til I almost dropped, They threw hard stones and ran, And then, not satisfied with that, They tied me to a can! | didn’t mean to hurt them much, But just to make them see They couldn’t trifle with a dog That had a pedigree. And when they felt my sharp white teeth, And yelled out, coward like, “Mad dog! Mad dog! Mad dog! Mad dog!” I knew ’twas time to hike. And now they hunt me with a gun, To shoot me, ’cause I’m mad. I guess I’m mad—I’ll say I am, I’m mad, yes, dog-gone mad! “Come on, Katie. It’s your turn to watch for him now.” EGG VIEW NEWS-NOTES By Leslie Van Every Cm LUMLEY has got rid of his new shotgun. He simply couldn’t stand for being kicked off his own premises. Too much Plato Prouty has forced Bill Waite, our grocer, into letting Miss Phrony Edgin, his clerk, go. Bill told Phrony that she could no longer be in love and his employ simultane- KK | nedllledlerts Maes Hipposlezelend me. The ‘‘Middle Son” By LUCILE CRITES. I TELL you what it ain’t no fun To have to be the “middle son” ; Big brother’s clothes I’ve had to wear, Until, if I wuz grown, I’d swear. Big brother gets a suit so trim, A new straw hat, that just fits him, But when that suit begins to “shine,” He says it’s time to call it mine. Then soon his hat’s too small for him, And though there’s nothing left but brim, They always hand it down to me, He gets another new one—see? I never had a brand new toy, ’Cause I am just the “middle boy,” My oldest brother got ’em new, And what wuz left, for me must do. I'd like to get it back, oh, gee! On my next brother, younger’n me, But when /'ve worn clothes ’bout the town, There’s nothing left to hand on down. And so my youngest brother too, Is always gettin’ something new; I tell you what, it ain’t much joy, In being just the “middle boy.” A WHOLESALER Grandma—Jack, the Giant Killer, you know, wore seven-league boots. Little Bobbie—Gee, gran’ma! He must have been some bootlegger. ZS Charles A Hughes < HUGHES’ ZOO 21 comicbooks.com