Judge — July 22, 1922 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

Passing It Along By Watt Mason ILLUSTRATION BY HENRY J. Peck sought me in my home, and told a story blighting; and I for- sook the deathless pome that I was busy writing. For I must listen to the wail of all who weep and suffer, and I must hear the doleful tale of every hard luck duffer. “My aunt is_ sick,” James Beeswax said, “my hens destroyed by weasels, my uncle’s pinched, my cow is dead, my kids have got the measles. I’ve wept more tears, I’ve shed more groans than I canwell remember, so kindly lend me fourteen bones till some time next December.” J oe BEESWAX “ I *LL help you, since you’re in the hole,” said I, with aspect sunny; “but do not tell a single soul that I have lent you money. For this gray world is full of sharks, who fake up tales of troubles, and look around for easy marks from whom to borrow rubles. And if you tell your neighbor Jones of what I am. bestowing, he'll be around to borrow bones before the cock is crowing. And if you tell your neighbor Gregg, ’twill stir that gall of his’n, and he'll be round to pull my leg before the sun is risen. So, Gaffer Bees- wax, keep it still, don’t tell your friends, dod rot ’em, and here’s a fourteen-dollar bill that you may keep till autumn.” “May heaven bless you,” Beeswax cried, “by you I’m kindly treated, and you may bet your spangled hide the facts won't be repeated.” “His nerve I could not pardon. him from my garden” UT ere the night was fairly by, ere I'd the hay forsaken, came Jones with briny in his eye, my sympathy to waken. “T’ve heard,” he said, “how well you helped Jim Beeswax in his trouble, but when my doleful tale I’ve yelped you ought to lend me double. I’m loaded down with grievous cares, my life is dark and solemn; my wife fell down the cellar stairs and broke her spinal column. My grandma’s lost her Sunday wig, and now she is a snarler, and some one swiped the Berkshire pig that I kept in the parlor. My larder has no bread or cheese, there is no bacon in it; my pointer pup is full of fleas, and scratches every minute. The anthrax killed my geese and ducks, they’re lost to me, dad burn them! So kindly lend me eighteen bucks until I can return them.” My eyes with tears of ire were dim, his nerve I could not pardon; I turned the rubber hose on him and chased him from my garden. 13 I turned the rubber hose on him and chased No SOONER vas this geezer gone than Gregg came callyhooting; he drove his Ford across my lawn, and kept its tin, horn tooting. “T hear you helped Jim Beeswax out,” he cried, in voice of thunder; “now won’t you help a worthy scout by hard luck trodden under? I do not borrow, as a rule, ’'m truly independent; but fate to me is cold and crool, misfortune’s my attendant. My children have no Sunday shoes, their clothes are worn and splitting. my uncle’s pinched for peddling booze, my dad for counterfeiting.” I took the shotgun from the wall, and watched this Gregg departing; but, on returning to my hall, my heart was sore and smarting. You cannot give a little aid to one whose life is bitter, but that the news will be relayed to every no-good critter. They spread the fame of one who gives with kindly smiles and chortles, until he in retirement lives, and locks his gates and portals, comicbooks.com