Judge — December 24, 1921 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

“Well, darling, if you’re not going to buy anything, we might as well look at something more expensive!”—London Mail. Tue Last Worp—Tell they the tale, as Mr. Cabell says, of the late General Horace Porter, what time he was man- ager of the Pullman Compan: One day he got a letter from an army officer who said that the Pullman car that had carried him from Jerse: to Long Branch had not been properly swept and dusted. General Porter waste-basketed the letter; also the second, the third and the fourth. But the fifth w: violent that General Porter dictated the follow- ing reply: Sir: we have run the train off the track, burned the cars, shot the con- ductor, hanged the porter and disc tinued the line. Hoping that this be satisfactory, I remain, ete.—F. P. A. in New York Tribune, BILLY IN HARD LUCK Mother—Well, Billy, Mrs. Jones has called up and is ill, so we won't be able to go there for supper as she invited us to. We'll have something here at home. Billy—Well, if that ain’t hard luck. Here I been and washed my face and hands for nothing —New York Sun. Forcot His LEARNING — “I’ve just heard Prof. Diggs describe a baseball game he saw the other day.” “Did he appreciate its fine poin “T should say so. I never realized before that a man with a scientific mind could react to a home run like an or- dinary human being.” — Birmingham Age-Herald. THE PRINTS OF PEACE—“Some men,’ remarked the admirer of poetry, “go into politics with the idea of leaving footprints on the sands of time.” “Some do,” replied Senator Sorghum. “And others are lucky if they get out without having their thumbprints taken.”—Washington Star. Qn ABSENT-MINDED HOSPITALITY — Two friends reached Waterloo Station, Lon- don, only to find that one of them had missed his last train home. The other, who lived in the Weybridge district, was more fortunate, and insisted upon taking his friend along with him. “You musn’t mind a walk, old chap,” he said, as they left Weybridge station, “My house is a good mile away.” “Lead on,” said his companion, and they footed it together. It was a bad night, raining in torrents, and they did the first three-quarters of a mile in comparative silence. Suddenly the host halted. “What’s up, old boy!” in- quired his friend. “Up!” retorted the other. “I forgot. We moved to Reigate yesterday !”—Los Angeles Times, “Yes,” said the timid passenger to the aviator, “I understand I’m to sit still and not be afraid, and all that; but tell me, in case something happens and we start to fall, what do I do?” “Aw, “Just grab anything we’re hang on tight!” — Youngstown gram. that’s ” said the birdman. ssing and Tele- SIR Wed “Hi! MUM’S THE WORD Customer—How can one tell the imitation pearls from the real? Salesman—Ah, madam, you do not tell—you just keep it to yourself. He Was Totp WHERE To GO—A man “butted in” at a waiting line before the railroad ticket window at New York, and the men who were in a hurry glow- ered. “I want a ticket for Boston,” said the man, and he put 50 cents under the ou can’t go to Boston for 50 cents,” returned the ticket seller. “Well, then,” 1 the man, “ can I go for 50 cents?” And each of the fourteen men in that waiting line told him where he could go.—Dental Digest. where DEUCEDLY CLEVER—A young English- man was walking up and down the platform of a country railroad junction, g to see a car that had a vacant He didn’t find it, and, assuming n official air, he walked up to the last ar and announced in stentorian ton “All out here; this car isn’t goin There were exclamations low and deep from the occupants of the but they all piled out and made their way to cars ahead. The smile on the young man’s face increased as he took possession of a seat and appropriated another for his luggage. “Ah,” he murmured, thing to be born clever! they’d start.” By and by the station master put his head in the door re you the smart young man who said this car wasn’t “it’s a grand Now I wish s,” said the clever one, a grin also, “it rakeman heard what you said and he uncoupled it. He thought you were a director.”— Boston Globe. His AMBITION—Joe Sims’s ambition is to own a 640-acre farm with a house in the exact center of the tract. Then and only then, says Joe, he will learn to play the bassoon.—Kansas City Star. Waiter, there’s a fly in this butter.” “Pardon me, it’s not butter—it’s margarine, and it’s not a fly—it’s a bluebottle; otherwise your statement is correct.”—Weekly Telegraph. 23 comicbooks.com