Judge — April 18, 1925 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

The Girl in the Green Dress Founp her sitting on the edge of | the Grand Canyon with her feet | hanging down, gazing off into space with a faraway look in her eyes, I approached casually on tiptoe. I did not wish to startle so gentle a | being. She wasas lithe and willowy asa bamboo fishing rod, and garbed in a green dress, a red hat perched rakishly over one eye. Thad followed her from Ft. Worth, Tex., that morning, secking an opportuni for I had fallen desperately in love | with her three days previously, when I had quite by accident come upon her while she was feeding a flock of brazil nuts in the city park. I dared not startle her now, sitting as she was on the very edge of that perilous precipice 3,000 feet high, so I waited. | A twig broke under my weight, and she turned and saw me. Fright- ened, she leaped to her feet, and | throwing her right arm across her s, toppled there on the very | brink. I leaped to catch her, but | was too late. As my fingers groped to ask her who she was, A certain pedestrian is saving his money to buy—not a car but an airplane. in the empty air where she had stood, body doubtless had been borne angel. “What's the matter, kid?” her lissome, willowy form was hurtling away by the rushing river. it inquired. “Did you lose all your | toward the jagged rocks beneath— Disconsolately I sank upon a — marbles? | and then all went black before me. boulder and buried my face in my I looked up. It was the girl in By a circuitous route IT managed to hands, This was the end! She was the green dress. “I thought you | reach the bottom of the cliff, where gone! The only woman I ever were d—dead,” I stammered. | the roaring Colorado River swept by. loved! “Come, come,” she whispered, Feverishly I hunted the rocky And then T felt a soft hand on my “quit your kidding. A little jump but in vain—her fragile, crushed head, and heard the voice of an like that doesn’t bother me. I used to play serials in the movies.” Nate Collier A Love Story I ove in the December of life is + just as beautiful as it is in May. A white-haired old man and a sweet little old lady used to meet in the park and sit together all after- noon. This friendship gradually de- veloped into a deeper affection, as friendships are wont to do, for love i is no respecter of persons or of age. | One summer day the old man took the little lady by the hand. ‘May I tell you the old, old story?” he asked, his voice trembling. She blushed as only old-fashioned people can, and nodded her head in assent. So he told her for the twenty- - eighth time how he won the Battle \* of Gettysburg. Spring! Ted Osborne comicbooks.com