Judge — April 8, 1922 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

Stroke and Bore By Monte Soun HE Ordways were over last Saturday night. They’re a real pair of motorists. They roll up fifteen thousand miles a year, and some years it is close to twenty. Bill Ordway is our champ motor car expert. He gets more out of cars than makers put in ‘em. He’s won every gasoline mileage test the club has conducted and I know he gets more than eight thousand miles out of fabrics. He keeps a record, Bill does. And when I compare my cost per mile with Bill’s, it makes me blush with shame. I’m a bush leaguer alongside of him. During the evening I took Bill down cellar and let him try the elderberry. When we were on the third he suddenly asked if we wouldn’t go along up to Wissinomyng Inn on Sunday. “It'll be a nice party,” he said. “We'll do a little dancing and they sure have a nifty jazz band up there.” But I told Bill we had another date. I was ashamed to tell him we couldn’t afford it. oc so + Monday morning I met Bill on the 8.18. “How was the party?” I asked. “Fine,” he said. “We sure had a large time. It cost me forty-three ber- ties, but it was worth it.” > > <> Last night, when friend wife and I were overhauling the old picnic kit and polishing up the vacuum bottles, I won- dered whether Bill figured those forty- three dollars in his cost per mile. I mentioned this fact to my wife. She gazed at me with the most peculiar fondness, for a moment. Then she put The average three-months-old baby’s idea of Heaven. down the bottle of metal polish and came over and kissed me. Women are the most peculiar crea- tures. They are trying to pass a law in New York making it a misdemeanor or some- thing to drive a car with one of one’s arms about one’s lady love. The news was crushing to me, at first. I was prostrate. I understood suddenly and fully the terrible thing that takes place in the child mind when the bubble Santa Claus is burst. Ro- mance, said I, is about to be sacrificed on the altar of Politics. When the chlorine torrent was yet in full flush upon my cheeks, a mes- senger dashed in. The telegram was from Judge's correspondent at Albany. I cannot divulge the secret contents of that message. But this I may say: The measure against one-arm driv- ing is sponsored by the women of New York state, as part of their cam- paign against half-way Romance. They are agitating in favor of young women doing the driving. Half a love, they mutter, is as good as none. Votes for women! Speaking of Romance, Love's Battery Repair Shop is still doing business on East Poplar Street, Columbus. Here’s encouragement for at least two bachelors we know who had begun to think their spark- ing days were over. > > +> Speaking of Columbus, that city holds a dealer who has a half nelson on the world’s record for guaran- tees. He recently issued a circular vowing that his vulcanizing would “outlast the tire.” What good, we wonder, is a vul- canize, when you ain't got no more tire? Calculus fails us. The country is widely at odds over what a friend of ours is pleased to call the Bonus of Contention. We had occasion a week ago to ride on the seat with the driver of a taxicab. The tonneau was filled, and we were the overflowing of the party. We noticed the driver’s serv- ice button. And as talk will drift, our talk became The Bonus. Yes, you bet he was for it, he said emphatically. But he was hesitant— half shy, but quite half anxious we should know he hoped to see it paid. We drew him out. What, we inquired, did he plan to do with the money. He had a job, and all was well with him? Or wasn't it? Sure. He had more than a job. He owned this cab—with just pride. “But if they come through,” said he, “I’m slipping it to the kid broth- ernlaw. Got a hunk uh shell in his jaw fer five years. And all the help he’s got f'm govament hospitals y’ can stick in your eye. They ain’t got much time f’ walkin’ cases, I guess. Yes. I'm fer the bon A fashionable uniform tailor tells us there’s a change for the better in his product. Ninety per cent. of the uniforms he makes for chauffeurs and footmen now are black or blue. But- tons are black instead of bright, and filigree braids are passé. Exhibit A—An ambi- tious clerk who pursued Oppor- tunity relentlessly highways 3 and got so familiar with the that he was appointed Commis- sioner of Streets. comicbooks.com