Judge — June 24, 1922 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

best. First Prize T WAS lunch hour at the lime works, and Pat's two buddies, de- ciding to play a little joke on him during his absence, drew the fea- tures of a donkey upon the back of his coat, which he had left behind. In due time Pat returned, and pres- ently hove in sight bearing the lime- decorated coat. “What's the trouble, Pat?” asked one, trying to appear indifferent. “Nothing much,” replied Pat, equally indifferent; “only I'd loike to know which one of yez wiped your face on me coat.” Second Prize URING the last Presidential cam- paign a Republican campaigner was traveling through the mountains of Tennessee addressing the mountain- eers, and trying to make them vote the Republican ticket. One day, before making an address, he turned to a young mountaineer standing near him, and asked: “My good man, what are you?” “I'm a Democrat,” replied the moun- taineer. “And why are you a Democrat?” in- quired the Republican. “Wal, my grandpap was a Democrat, and my pap was a Democrat; so I am one, too.” “Why, that’s no reason for you to be a Democrat. Suppose your grand- pap was a horse thief, and your pap was a horse thief, what would you be?” “Wal,” answered the mountaineer, “I reckon I'd be a Republican.” oe An old negress had gone to the movies for the first time, and she sat through the whole show with her nerves on edge, for the fighting in the picture seemed too real not to be true. In the end, the villain, as usual, had been killed, and this excited the old lady still more. The first show was over, but she remained in her seat. When the pic- ture began again showing the villain, the old woman hurriedly left, mum- bling to herself: “I saw that feller killed with me own eyes, but when dey git to showin’ his ghost, I’se leavin’.” All others at regular rates. Stories to Tell JUDGE pays $10 weekly for the best story submitted for this page, and $5 for the second Original, unpublished humorous stories only are wanted. Wallaballoo was in a decided hulla- balloo, for King Topknot had not en- joyed his dinner. Various dusky offenders of the law cowered in their huts, trembling lest the monarch’s wrath should demand their heads as a sort of makeweight. Dusky damsels tried to woo their king to good humor, but all in vain. Topknot, king of all the Wallaballoos, smacked his lips and patted his sides with a dissatisfied air. “Fetch the cook!” he thundered at last. Trembling in every limb, the honored chef made his bow. “What was that dish of white meat?” demanded the chief, his hand resting lightly on his mighty tomahawk. “Braised motor-cyclist, O most won- derful and wise!” “He tasted very burned,” meaningly replied he of the blood royal, half rising from his seat and still clasping his tomahawk. “Mercy, O beautiful and good!” ex- claimed the chef, falling on his knees hurriedly. “He was scorching when we caught him, O king!” Pardoned! os. An American visitor was looking over a famous stud farm in Yorkshire, England. He stopped to have a chat with an old Yorkshireman, who was cleaning some harness in the corner of the yard, ‘and was very much amused by the old man’s accent and speech. Just then a butterfly settled on the stable door. “Pretty, ain't it?” re- marked the American, pointing to the butterfly. “Now, what do you call them over here?” The old man made a shot at the but- terfly with his cap. “Yon’s a flutter- bug,” he said impressively, “but us chaps calls 'em flugs to save a bit a’ time.” o_o It was during the war, and at one of those’ plants ostensibly devoted to the production of dyestuffs, but which had an irrepressible and negligent habit of blowing up every semi-occasionally. Among the employees was a large con- tingent of colored brethren lured from the South by the high wages. One day there was a more than or- dinarily violent boom. And one of the roofs rose up in an attempt at flight and settled down again at a rakish angle, venomous yellow smoke poured 10 out of the windows, and a large crowd, who stood not on the order of going, spilled out the doorways and other convenient apertures, and streaked its way toward the gates. The manager of the works rushed out of his office to see what was the matter, and spying a large colored gentleman, who seemed to be making better time than any of the others, he sang out: “Hey, Rastus, where you going?” “Boss,” replied Rastus, not slacken- ing his pace one iota, “Boss, I ain't goin’, I’se gone!” o_o An official of a certain secret society recently mailed out notices to several members appointing them a committee to visit the sick. The next day one of those thus notified halted the official on the street. “I'm chosen for the sick committee?” he asked. “Yes, why not?” “Well,” the member replied, “I don’t mind serving, but my business—” “Can't you serve after business hours?” the official interrupted. “By the way, what’s your business?” “I'm an undertaker.” oo Three backwoodsmen reached Mobile about dusk with a raft of sawlogs. They had only three dollars left of their expense money, but agreed to blow it all for a swell feed. Entering a restaurant where a table d’héte dinner for one dollar was of- fered, they proceeded to get their money’s worth. After eating, they started out, but were overtaken by the proprietor, who requested that they settle for their dinners. One of them replied: “We paid your cashier at the table. She came around to all the tables and collected. Say, cap’n, you got a good collector in that gal; her tambourine was nigh half full of money.” oo Neither Sambo or Rastus could read the time of day—or anything else—but Sambo had a nice big Ingersoll, which he exhibited with a great air of superi- ority. “What time am it?” said Rastus. Sambo hesitated, and then extended the timepiece, saying: “Dar she am!” Rastus looked at it carefully, and said: “Dam, if she ain't!”