Judge — April 28, 1923 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

“What can we do? I fear our banquet will be a failure. A noted wit has failed us.” “Dunno—best I can do for you is to get you a couple of half-wits.” BEST OF EVERYTHING by Walt Mason says Moses J. MeMoon; she is a precious boon.” “she is the treasure of my life, And of this wondrous woman's worth he'll boast for hours on end; and so along this gray old earth he walks without a "T’ Ave the dearest, sweetest wife,” We all have seen his famous wife and she looked like a sin; she’s thinner than a butcher knife, her tecth are plugged with tin, But even if she were as slick as statutes will allow, that husband is a tiresome hick who brags about his fran. Some things we shouldn't talk about upon the public mart; some things the wise, judicious scout will keep within his heart. » best. one ever made,” J. Hoopla Winder MM car's the AVE spiels: “my grand old bus I wouldn't trade for any- thing on wheels. \t evening, to the Blue Front store, to brag of autos we adore, and chew some linen there. of things our cars have done, of climbing hills on high, and of the long endurance run we pulled off last July. We talk about our wondrous boats, ¢ vybeard in his turn; o'er some achievement each one gloats, and ‘has his lies to burn. And +h one would make a hit as with the truth he spars, we all are willing to admit that there are other cars. But now J. Hoopla is our guest, and windily he spiels; his auto is the very best that ever went on wheels. We straightway leave the Blue Front store, with sorrow we can’t endure the tedious bore who always friend. we patriarchs repair, We tell in each breast; has the best. Witte,” says the dad who has no sense of “is surely a precocious lad—he’s due to conquer Oh, other parents may have kids in whom good sense who have beneath their little lids a fair supply of brains; they demonstrate, perhaps, each day, their heads are not of bone; but little Willie, I must say, is in a class alone. Oh, sit you down with me, by ji rile yet the night is young, and T'll repeat five hundred things that little Willie sprung.” You know this sort of parent skate, he’s bored you countless times, and you have wished some vengeful fate would swat him for his crimes. The parent is a worthy man, in fifty-seven ways: he lives upon a moral plan, and ail his debts he pays. He strives to do the thing that’s right, he has no habits bi and yet we dodge this useful wight, who boasts about his lad. V E popGE the boasters, one and all, until their graves are green; we dodge all men impelled by gall instead of gasoline. Perhaps old Noah could remark, nor be accounted cheap, that he possessed the finest ark that floated on the deep. There were no other arks afloat, so Noah’s was the best; but if he bragged about his boat it was no doubt in jest. Before you brag about your car, your shotgun or your aunt, just think how many more there are—and then decline to rant. *s Y LITTLE M shame, fame. obtains, comicbooks.com