Judge — April 15, 1922 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

THE SHINING EXAMPLE By Watt Mason ILLUSTRATION BY Henry J. Peck afi 4 A ’M TIRED of Charles Adolphus Stack, who lives across the way, so I can see him from my shack at all hours of the day. He is aman of ster- ling worth, a saintly man and wise, and people say the sad old earth will miss him when he dies. To all the higher, nobler things he always has aspired; I have no doubt he’s wear- ing wings—that’s why he makes me tired. For I'm a _ common, human toff, with failings by the peck; and when my Sunday hat blows off, I cry aloud, “By heck!” Then someone's sure to say to me, “You shouldn’t cuss like that; why hand out language wild and free, because you've lost your hat? Consider Charles Adolphus Stack, that white and shining guy; to- day he fell upon his back and knocked his spine awry. And did he hand out when he rose cusswords too fierce to tell? Ah, no, he brushed his dusty clothes, and merely said, ‘Well, well!’” And so I view that saintly hick, so free from faults and sins, and wish that I might throw a brick so it would hit his shins. If he would only beat his wife or swipe a widow's cow, he wouldn’t spoil my useful life as he has spoiled it now. I’ve searched his record up and down, to find some flaw or scar, but in his bright and dazzling crown there is no missing star. I stand up strong for people good, for people high and fine; but no one’s strong effulgence should _ entirely smother mine. Some little flaw is all I ask, in those who live next door, and then we shall together bask in peace forevermore. Oh, let my neighbor push the gas and knock a speed law cold, or work off counterfeits of brass in place of yellow gold. For who can peace or comfort know if he who lives next door is whiter than the drifted snow upon an arctic shore? All day around my humble shack, where my chaste aunts abide, I hear of Charles Adolphus Stack—his name is breathed with pride. I sit me down to read a book that’s worth its weight in hay, and sigh, “Now, in my ingle- nook, I'll pass a pleasant day. I know I ought to paint the barn, the garden I should weed; but labor isn’t worth a darn when there’s a book to read. 12 In this fair book the villain rants, the hero makes things huam—" Then come my tall and stately aunts, with faces grim and glum. “Alas,” they cry, “and eke alack! To see you wasting time, when Neigh- bor Charles Adolphus Stack, with in- dustry sublime, is cleaning out his sheds and pens, and pruning pumpkin trees, and chasing down his straying hens, and sorting bumble bees! And here you sit and do no whack, your map suffused with grins! Alas, that Charles Adolphus Stack was not created twins!” I do not like to leave my couch before the dawn of day; this early rising leaves a grouch that’s hard to fan away. I like to slumber till I'm tired of dreaming and repose, till I have had all I desired of rest and