Judge — December 31, 1921 — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

“Mummy, isn’t that monkey like Uncle George?” “Hush, darling, you musn’t say things like that.” “But the monkey can’t understand; can he, mummy?” Little Jackie was spending a holiday in the country and was highly enter- tained by everything he saw in the barn and farmyard. The old red hen’s cackle to announce that she had laid an egg was a never- failing source of delight. He always wanted someone to get the egg im- mediately. One day he was allowed the privi- lege of going all by himself to fetch the treasure. In a few minutes he came running back excitedly, but his eagerness was too great. He tripped and fell. In a minute his hands and blouse were smeared with yellow as he clutched bits of broken shell. But he came up smiling mother. “Oh, mummie,” he cried, as he held up the fragments. “I had a fall, but it’s all right, *cause I didn’t lose any- thing only the juice!”—Chicago News. to his “Hullo! William,” said Hendy; “wheer’s thoo getten that black eye?” “Wey,” replied William, dolefully, “thoo sees, oor Jack’s just gettin’ back fro’ his honeymoon, an’ it wor me as persuaded him to get marrit.’”—Lon- don Weekly Telegraph. —London Opinion. A lady noted for her happy wit was talking one day at a tea about the art of flattery. “To flatter a girl,” she said, “the direct compliment should be rarely used. It is too knock-down in its effect. Like a sledge-hammer, you know. “The indirect, the delicate compli- ment succeeds much better. For ex- ample, a young man should never tell a girl that she has pretty legs. The girl would probably be offended. But she would think him the nicest fellow in the world if he should say to her: “*Your new hat is simply lovely, but no one will ever notice it, unless you lengthen your skirts.’”—Las Angeles Times. “So the Colonel is a connoisseur in hootch?” “Well, he has good judgment.” “Eh?” “Won’t drink any of it.”—Louis- ville Courier-Journal. Hub—That new partner of mine is never satisfied. He wants everything he sees. Wife—You must hurry and _intro- duce our daughter to him.—Boston Transcript. The late George Loane Tucker, the movie pioneer, was noted in Los Angeles for his fastidious tastes. Mr. Tucker was lunching one day in a Los Angeles restaurant, and at a nearby table sat a movie king whose table manners left much to be desired. The man ate his soup in a specially noisy manner. Eating away, he leaned towards Mr. Tucker and said: “This is durn good soup, George.” “It sounds good,” Mr. Tucker re- plied.—Detroit Free Press. Mrs. Homebody — Mrs. Peewee knows how to manage her husband. - She has him eating out of her hand. Mr. Homebody—Lucky stiff! Then he doesn’t have any dishes to wash.— Boston Globe. “Daughter,” said the cautious moth- er, “you should know, absolutely, that you love James above all things, before you marry him.” “For mercy’s sake, mamma,” pouted the girl, “you are so unreasonable! How can I know how much I love him until I marry him and give him a_chance to treat me mean_and see if I can stick to him!”—Richmond Times-Dispatch. We are now ready to receive expert opinions as to the best means of run- ning the furnace without burning any coal.—Fayette (Mo.) Advertiser. “Pa,” said young Thomas Twobble, “what’s a golf hazard?” “Some of the stuff that’s handed around in the locker rooms, son.”— Birmingham Age-Herald. “Does wealth bring happiness?” “T'll say it does,” replied Mr. Dustin Stax. “You ought to see the head waiter smile when I give him a tip.”"— Washington Star. Bobby came home from his first day at kindergarten with the announce- ment that he could write. Upon being given pencil and paper he made his usual meaningless scribbles. “But what,” said his mother. “does it say?” “How do I know?” answered Bobby. “I haven't learned to read it yet.”"— Chicago Tribune. . 4 She—Do you know the Barber of Seville? He—I am not acquainted with him, because I always shave myself. —Le Journal Amusant (Paris). comicbooks.com