Judge — December 29, 1923 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

Householder—Hey, fireman! do, run and drop this letter in a post box. very important; it’s my fire insurance! First thing you It’s A MOVING TALE r. Litttesonn and Mrs. Little- M john’ had a fight. It was a rather sharper spat than usual, the ¢ ion of the rumpus being the late and lamentably alcoholical arrival of Mr. Littlejohn upon the evening previous. It was on December 31. m finished,” cried Mrs. Lit tished with you for good! john— fine idea just before beginning a New Year . “Do you mean that?” said Mr. Little- john, in whom the ninety-proof fires still burned defiantly. “Every word of it!” wen I'm free t “Go this minute, if you want to.” “All right,” shouted Mr. Littlejohn, jumping up from his seat—“T'll go right now!” “And take all your belongings with you—you good for nothing loafer!” But Mrs. Littlejohn had hardly uttered this last injunction before her husband had clapped on his hat and popped out the door. When Mr. Littlejohn had walked a few steps into the street, he saw by a jeweler’s clock that it was eleven a.m. ‘The rain was pouring dismally; and soon the leash- aid his spouse. by Cyril B. Egan less husband began to feel very dank and forlorn. After a moment of hesitation, back he walked to his apartments. He opened the door, and ambled into the kitchen, where Mrs. L. was sitting in stony silence. “I came back for my umbrella,” he murmured apologetically. But Mrs. L. gave him no more notice than if he were a worm. Mr. Littlejohn took his umbrella, and again walked out into the street. Now he had hardly proceeded a block, when he noticed that the soles of his shoes were leaking. The water runneled through his brogues with an unpleasant squashy sound. Again he hesitated. Again he directed his footsteps in the direction of his erstwhile domicile. “Sorry to disturb you,” he murmured to the wife, who was still sitting like a frozen sphinx; “but I had to come back for my rubbers!” 4yQuiprep with rubbers. 4 Mr. Littlejohn felt dr. The rain still fell forlornly when he ag: sallied out of doors; but it failed to sad- den his waterproof soul. Besides, sorts of pleasant thoughts were now pop- ping into his mind. gotten an idea. He walked down a couple of blocks to a house which flaunted the sign: Four Rooms—U p-to-date apartment. to let. Happily the agent happened to be on the premises at the time; so that Mr. Little- john, after a brief and satisfactory surv was able immediately to engage the plac Sorry to disturb you,” he said, when, about an hour later, he popped a. third time into the kitchen where his wife was sitting alone put I've come for the fur- niture. There’s a van at the door!” “Furniture!” cried Mrs. L., gripping hard onto both arms of the wicker rocker whereon she was enthroned—“Of all the gall Mr. Littlejohn had Now, now, Ag; reproved Mr. tlejohn gently: it’s no gall at all. i the furniture’s mine, and you particularly urged me to take my belong- ings, didn’t yc “Where—where on earth!” cried Mrs. L., her words sounding like gravel that is forced through too fine a strainer—‘‘are you going to put the furniture? In storage “Oh, no!” he chirped, “I’ve rented a new apartment.” comicbooks.com