Judge — July 1, 1922 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

The Happy Man By Watt Mason Intustration By Henry J. Peck AL “But do you feel, by any chance, that you would like to sing and dance?” go and find one if I can; in this bright world there should be gents who have no use for dire laments; there should be glad, ecstatic boys who fairly bask in wholesome joy I am not happy, I confess; diseases bring me much distress; when I’ve re- covered from the mumps, rheumatics give me doleful dumps, and when rheumatic pains get through, I nearly perish of the flu; I have hay fever and the itch, and in my side there is a stitch. I often think if I were well I'd be so happy I would yell; and as it is I strive to show a wintry smile where’er I go. But people who are full of pep, who walk along with nervous step, they should be happy as the birds that hand us anthems lacking words. I MET J. Belvidere McShank, who has much boodle in the bank; and he has cattle on the hills, and he owns farms and stores and mills.” I said, “J. Belvidere, old scout, you're beastly rich and have no gout; with health and plunder laid away, you should be happy as the day. But do you feel, by any chance, that you I SAID, “Is there a happy man? T'll would like to sing and dance? I’m hunt- ing for a happy skate who always has his smile on straight. “Seek not among the idle rich,” said he, in tones of doleful pitch; “the more a fellow owns these days, the fewer chortles does he rai The tax collec- tor is abroad and carries off the rich man’s wad; and no man in this world can pay an income tax and still be gay.” I MET the optimist who springs his sunshine thoughts and kindred things. I’ve seen his pictures every- where, and always he has smiles to spare; and he has heartened me at times when life and toil’seemed dreary crimes. But now his face was pale and draw the sunny stuff was gone for a happy lad,” I said you sad, for I was hoping you would show just where the little sunbeams grow.” “Alas,” the optimist replied, “no man can know how hard I’ve tried to radiate all kinds of joy, and be the champeen sunshine boy. But my good wife, Amanda Jane, gives me a dark, three- cornered pain. I love good coffee passing 13 well, I love its flavor and its smell; with such a drink I could endure fried steaks and biscuits beastly poor; but my dear wife, she brews a drink that puts my i nards on the blink; she makes expensi: coffee taste like castor oil or rancid paste; and, filled with such a bitter brew, the skies don’t seem a dazzling blue, the birds are singing out of tune, and there are whiskers on the moon.” TH graybeard said he might be gay if he were not so old and gray. The stern young man refused to smile, for grinning wasn’t worth his while; he had so many things to de, so many cords of wood to hew, so many rugged paths to climb, to reach the pinnacle sublime, he couldn’t pause to talk with me of mirth and happiness and glee. So al the folks I interviewed seemed in a dour and dismal mood, You see, it was a wretched day; the winds were bleak, the sky was gray. Next day was sunny and serene, the sky was blue, the grass was green, and every delegate I met pronounced this world the one best et! comicbooks:com