Judge — August 23, 1924 — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

nal ap) ithe Der cent. ighted physiological You how to correct, bow and knoek-kneed legs without any obligation on your part. Enclose a dim tage. M. TRILETY, | 9921, Ackerman Building EVERY READER OF JUDGE might have the print of a famous drawing, but only one could have the original! Judge’s Originals are by the leading artists in the country and can be purchased at. small cost. Simply specify subject of the one you like to us and we will do the rest. Judge’s Art Department 627 W. 43d Street New York City Protect yourself against hole-a orden ete with this of fy ter ci ‘metal, “Looks $zactly like the real thing! Pull the trigger, back files the lid showing tes. Lots PIMPLES Your Sie Can Bo Quy Card of Pipes, Blackhead, tions on the face ee Harbors fet, Se ay E.S.GIVENS, 724 Chanioal Bldg, Kansas City,Mo. SERVICE The Investment Bureau contains sound, con- servative, helpful information and advice about financial matters, Why not consult it about your investments? it on gucetionsl Gooktet | 10 cents. ‘sults. Over 6,000 pupil: SRINKLER ° Puplis. BRINKL aiface eric | GARTER For CROOKED LEGS (PATENTED) Makes trousers hang straight if Legs Bend In or Out elf-adjustable It holds Socks Up—Shirt Down Not a “Form” or “Harness” No Metal Springs Free Circular—Plain Envelope THE T.GARTER CO. South Bend, Indiana The Worm Turns (Continued from page 11) “What!” “Nome, Alaska!” “Quit yer kiddin’!” “If I mistake not,” said Plympton Pew in accents icy and Harvardian—‘“you are the same driver who taxied me to Albany, N. Y., a year ago?” “I’m the guy! “And did I not discharge my financial obligation to you then, at the same time bestowing on you a most immoderate tip?” “Yep!” “Well, if Albany, N. Y., why not Nome, Alaska? I am jaded. I seek a new thrill, the wild thrill of a taxi ride from Broadway to Bering Strait. What say, fellow? Have you the courage to carry one?” The six-cylinder bandit took thought a minute. Then spitting on his hands, he cried: “Whaddaya mean, courage? for anything!” He slammed the door on his fare, and mounted the seat. “Plympton Pew de Puyster!” he re- peated to himself in unholy glee. “To Nome, Alaska! With a red flag and a trick clock! Sweet gravy!” And he stepped on the gas. * I’m game * * When at length they came to a little log hut in the suburbs of Nome, Plymp- ton Pew tapped gently on the glass. “Stop here!” he cried to the driver. The red flag jackal stopped the cab, and his fare got out. “Now sit where you are, driver,” directed Plympton Pew from the step of the cabin door—‘“just for a second while I go in and say hello to Big Chief Cave-In-The-Face, the gentleman who last walrus hunt through these Only a teeny-weeny second of the city. Now don’t run away on me, old thing!” Whereupon, with never a knock, Plympton Pew De Puyster opened the cabin door, and closed it gently after him. . . . Five minutes the bandit waited at the wheel; then, just as he was waxing im- patient and beginning to suspect foul play— Bang! Bang! Two shots rang out from behind the cabin door. “Goodness gracious!” the taxi-driver cried, or words to that effect, and jump- ing from his seat, he dashed into the shack. But there was no one there—except Plympton Pew de Puyster—and to the pop eyes of the bewildered hackey, not even the latter was apparent—only his body, with a smoking revolver dangling from his left hand and a hastily scrawled note pinned across his chest. “Nothing left in life for me,” said the note. “Financial embarrassment ren- dered complete and permanent by high- way assaults of chorus girls, hatboys, bellboys, and taxi drivers. Don’t search my pockets. Last meal cleaned ’em out. Sorry, old top, to bring you so far out of your way, but you were so generous to me in our last trip to Albany that I thought you wouldn’t mind if I had a little suicide at your expense. There is a small pellet of cyanide in my high hat band. Will you have a little suicide on me?” As we have said before, a smoking revolver dangled from the lifeless fingers of Plympton de Puyster’s left hand— but for the first time in his life or death, his daintily manicured right thumb was rigidly and inelegantly applied to the tip of his aristocratic nose. tas An American doctor says that kissing is least dangerous at midnight. True. By that time her father is usually in bed and asleep. —London Opinion Of course, I do. 30 * Do you always shave outside, Mr. Vernon?” D'yer think I’m fur lined 2” —London Mail feat | comicbooks.com