Judge — January 7, 1922 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

HER MOTTER A farmer and his wife were up before a Justice of the Peace for assault and battery. The complainant was their hired man. The farmer had been beating his wife, when the hired man interfered. The farmer had im- mediately turned on the hired man, and for a time the two had it nip and tuck. Suddenly the farmer’s wife had thrown herself on the hired man, kick- ing, clawing and shouting, “What do you mean by interferin’? Guess my ol’ man’s got a right to beat me if he wants to!” After hearing the testimony, the Judge said to the woman: “You must have great esteem and respect for your husband when you will help him beat up a man who has just prevented him from beating you up.” “Tain’t that, Jedge,” replied the woman, “but ‘safety first’ is my motter. So long as Jake was agettin’ th’ best of it I said nothin’, but when I seed that he was atirin’ an’ thet my ol’ man was agoin’ to lick him, I knowed thet if I didn’t stick up fer my ol’ man I'd a got a good lickin’. ‘Safety first’ is my motter, Jedge.” A DEAD SECRET They are rival real estate dealers— bitter enemies and leading candi- dates for the title of the town’s biggest grafter. Recently, how- ever, to the amusement of everyone, Jones, forgetting professional jeal- ousy and personal enmity, bought a beautiful residence from Brown for his own home. As the purchase price was apparently unusually low, the new owner smilingly informed the universe that he had been far too clever for his ancient rival. But a few days after he moved into his new home, there came a heavy rain. The next morning two feet of water stood in the basement of his wonderful bargain. Investiga- tion revealed that the property had never been properly drained. Indignantly the outraged owner tushed to Brown’s office, demanding to know why he had not been informed of the faulty drainage. Motioning for silence, Brown asked his stenographer to leave. He then ushered his guest into Silently he locked the door. the private consultation room. Crossing TOLD AT THE NINETEENTH HOLE the room, he closed the window and drew the shades. Then he softly tip- toed across the room to his furious victim. Bending over him, he whis- pered: “The fellow that sold it to me never mentioned it, and I thought it was a dead secret.” IN DIFFICULTY A young married man went into the ladies’ department of a large Boston store and was noticed to walk from counter to counter looking at goods and signs until he noticed he was under watchful eyes. Noticing a smart, smiling Miss, he went up to her and said: “My wife sent me here to make a purchase, and I have been reading the signs to see if I could get the right word to de- scribe what she wishes. It is either a camisole or a casserole. Can you help me?” The young lady replied: “If you will answer one question I can solve the problem. Is the chicken dead or alive?” A CONVERT’S EXCUSE Near a little town there lived two brothers, known as Uncle Ben and Uncle Billy. Uncle Ben was a devout Christian and a zealous member of the Things were not breaking just right for him. church. Uncle Billy had gone “all the gaits,” and in late middle life was yet numbered with the “goats.” He was finally converted, whereat there was great rejoicing. The preacher at the next service called on Uncle Billy to lead in prayer. Uncle Billy knew his deficiencies and remained silent. Again the preacher called on him to lead in prayer with the congregation on its knees expectantly 8 waiting. A third time the preacher called loudly, “Brother Billy, please lead us in prayer.” Uncle Billy could not muster courage to respond, so he called out: “Pahson, call on Brudder Ben. He’s better *quainted wid de Lawd den I is.” IDENTIFICATION A rule was recently established in one of Chicago’s department stores to the effect that any customer wishing to charge and at the same time take purchases must show the floorwalker something for identification. One day a stout woman bustled up to the glove counter, selected a pair of gloves, and said to the clerk, “I'll just take these with me. Charge them, please.” The clerk filled out the necessary slips and called the floor- walker. “Have you anything by which you can be identified?” he asked. The customer flushed uncomfort- ably. “Why—I—I never heard of such a thing!” “It’s a new rule, madam. Every customer is required to show some mark of identification. I’m sorry, but none of our other customers have taken offense.” The woman looked about her doubtfully. “Well,” she said re- luctantly. “If I’ve got to, I sup- pose I must. Then quickly un- fastening her collar and pointing to a large brown mole on her neck, she said: “This is the only mark I’ve got. I’ve had it all my life. I£ you think it’s going to do your store any possible good you’re welcome to look at it!” SAMBO’S LOGIC One hot July afternoon, a tired and very dusty little colored lad chanced to be passing a reservoir quite a distance from home. The water looked so cool and inviting that Sambo could not resist, and a few moments later found him splashing around to his heart’s content. The keeper, upon discovering him, rushed up and called out, “Hey, there! Come out of that! Don’t you know that people in town have to drink that water?” Sambo dived under again, came up, and innocently replied: “Oh, dat’s all right, suh, I ain’t usin’ no soap!”