Judge — April 15, 1922 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

“What’s the population of Paris, mother?” him. | ] ] LL = | “Sentiment. 1s mhty fine But Till take food along with mine’ Greeting cards” said Pere “look cute But Til put mine on chicken fruit raster Greetings dust like a gallant knight of yore He bowed until he touched the floor . Youre such a thoughtful one” said she, Pray, shell the egq and dine with me” “Wait till your father has finished writing his sermon and then ask “T don't think he knows much about any place except Heaven.” ‘TL never, never fail to send—_. Greetings to my lady friend “were off now for Matildas house Continued Pere, the gallant mouse. Greetiv® ) - A Pretty Custom at Washington (Continued from page 4) boys, forgetting their eggs and their differences, spring as one boy on the new-comer, smash his undyed egg on the point of his chin, bash his hat down on his frontal sinus, bloody his nose, kick him on every convenient point of his anatomy, and then make him walk Spanish out of the west gate and throw him into an ash barrel be- hind the Pan American Building. .. . When they returned, their own eggs had all rolled down to the Potomac, and were swimming toward Mount Vernon, leaving a red, white and blue wake of fast colors in the water. “Anyhow,” the boys said, “we settled Sammy Public’s hash. The fresh thing! Let’s go into the White House and get some lemonade.” “The lemon,” President Hardapple began, as the liveried servants passed around the trays, “is a noble fruit. It is now grown in this country, where the sunny valleys of California smile up to the towering, snow-clad peaks of the high Sierras, and by levying a tariff on imported lemons we can—” “Raise money for a bonus!” cried the boys from St. Legion. A look of pain crossed the Presi- dent’s chiseled features and he hastily left the room. The last thing he heard was the crash of falling glass, and the St. Legion cheer: For taxes, for tariffs, we don’t care a cuss, We fought and we bled, and we want a bonus. Later, peeping from a window, he saw the lone figure of the little Borah boy, his clothes torn and one eye closed, busily raking under the barbed wire and trying to gather a few whole eggs from the tulip beds. With romance flitting through his head. Pere hardly knew just what he said. But from the jestures of his hand. tilda seemed to understand. sm, Percy dearly loved to dine; Thanks; said he, “the pleasure’s mine “Easter ¢qqs are hard to peel,” | lalways crack them with my heel 26 Alas! Alack' The shell he broke -~ The dinner ended ina joke! dust one thing Percy ‘overlooked. ~ The Easter eaq had not been cooked.' (