Judge — July 5, 1924 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

First Golfer—That was a fine drive you made this morning. Second Golfer—Which one do you mean? “Oh, you know—that time you hit the ball!” AVIS, THE NATIONAL GAME OF FRANCE Axexe the exciting novelties that fall to the happy lot of the American tourist in France to-day, nothing appeals to his love of sports quite so much as the national game of Avis. Hitherto there has been no one game like baseball, for instance, to capture the Gallic imagina- tion and draw large crowds, but with the introduction of Avis the French people now have a sport that in a short time will rank with bridge, loggats and Watching the Spring Fashion Openings. Let me describe the game for the bene- fit of those half dozen Americans who are not planning to go abroad this sum- mer. Suppose you have persuaded your wife’s brother, uncle, or perhaps, father, to play Avis with you and the appointed day for the contest arrives. You get up about 8.15, go to turn on the hot water, find there is none, ring for the valet de chambre (maid—freely translated), wait ten minutes, and then decide to shave later anyhow. A light dejeuner (lunch) is served, consisting of one cup of choco- late, one Vienna roll and one pat of butter. You eat this while longing for coffee, wheat cakes, eggs, bacon and a dish of prunes, buoyed up with the happy knowledge that your Avis opponent is doing no better. By this time it is almost dir heures (ten A.M. proceed down stairs to the foyer (hall) where you meet Uncle Wilbur. You then taxi to the corner of the Rue des Halles (Main street North, say) and you pay the driver, giving him his douceur (ten cents, counting exchange) and alight. You then say: “Uncle Wilbur, shall our time) and you we play from here straight across to the Roo doo Loover?™ and Uncle Wilbur says: “Sure, that'll do for a s' you button up your « ison. You give the sign: three—A as you car rter,” and then s and the game “One—two— and away you run as fast across the street and the one who gets there before a taxi hits him wins. If both you and Uncle Wilbur succeed in arriving without injury, that c deuce and you begin all over creasing the forfeits in proportion to the difficulty of the crossing selected. The Parisian taxi driver is a born sport and a delightfully irresponsible gamin (jolly fellow), who'll run over anyone. He seems to have developed a particular penchant (liking) for Americans and I heard quite by accident that Parisian chauffeurs play a game of their own with a scale of points determined by the nationality of the people they run down. It g: me a thrill of pride to learn that. Americans are at the top of the list. They count as ten points. are reckoned as only eight; Brazilia six; I s, Belgians and Spanish five; Frenchmen only four, and one forfeits two points if one runs over a German. I never dreamed when I left home that I would ever dar Gallic game as Avis, but here, when one gets into the atmosphere of these daring Frangais (Frenchmen), one does as they do. Englist nen ‘And so I, too, have played at Avis, and what is more, I won! lonely corner near the [uw that Thad my first thrill Wednesday gardeners we Cartouch It was on a des Invalides success. One as the market n from Artois, Aix-les-Bains and with their fragrant produce, I ing my Aunt Phoebe home from a ball and the dear old lady expressed a wish to get home to bed as she was feeling rather run down. euilly escort- Just then a taxi crawled around the turn at something less than one hundred miles an hour and quickly crying, “Avis. T urged Aunt Phoebe to cross the street. As [let go her arm and sped across to safety I heard a seream behind me and what do you think?—the taxi had hit Aunt Phoebe, and I found myself the victor in my first contest. The doctors say that my aunt will be all over it in three months or so and, sitting by her bed in the hospital, we have had many a laugh at her being so slow that morning. Rosert Conwe Lt. Modest “What kind of a car would you like, madam, four, six or eight cylinders? “Couldn't we begin with one? Mr. Browne, the amateur saxophonist, makes a slight mistake during the rehearsal interval. 22 comicbooks.com