Judge — June 13, 1925 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

The Lonesome Club OULD you like to meet a mil- lionairess? Sowould we. Are you alone in some big (small) city? Why don't you move to the country? This is your opportunity. Thou- sands are starving for want of some one to take them to dinner almost every night. Would you like to correspond with college professors, radio experts, college professors or radio experts? If so just enclose 8 cents in War Savings Stamps in a sealed unaddressed envelope and we will send you the middle and maiden names of any sixty-seven people chosen at random from the list below. Also give your favorite color so that we can include your name in our next list to be chosen from. Dear Lonesome Crus Eprror— lam a young girl ninety-three years old, considered by some of my friends to be cockeyed but the doctor says it’s nothing but an acute case of strabismus and may wear off in ten or twelve years. I am anxious to write to some lad my own age or older if nothing can be done about it. Lalso write poetry. Would you like to read some of it? Ima Goof Tue Epitor, Tue Lonesome Cive—I ain't no hand at writin’ letters. Can't you leave a guy in peace? What da you take me for? I think I'll write to my Congress- man. Constant Reader Dear Loxesome Crvs—I am an old bald man of seventeen winters and one fall (but it didn’t hurt much, due to I having on my heavy over- coat) with wavy blond nose and deep blue hair and would like to get in touch with a girl named Gertrude last seen walking east toward the wharf at Port Said. I could tell you her middle name and her father’s address but that would muke it too easy for you. Now let's sce if you're all you claim. Skeptical My Darunc Lonesome Crus— How would I ever get along without you? I enclosed 94 cents or eight per cent. of my last year’s income tax in a picture postcard which I for- got to mail last July. As yet I have not received an answer. Is that the way you do business? I hope you stub your toe. Indignant My Ownste Wownste Lonesie Epitor—Uncle Harold said to me the other day, “I'll bet a cookie it’s a man writing that stuff and he does it all himself.” Well, you can bet I snapped him up just like that and in a trice the bargaip was sealed. I said I'd write you and that if what he said was true you'd be man enough to make a clean breast of the whole filthy business. Tell ‘em it ain't true. With love, Irie “At last I’ve got just the set that I’ve always wanted!” a - = J 1 WINDER WHAT'S BECOME oF A Waste of Time E Was a small, wiry, aggressive man. I had been walking be- hind him now for three or four blocks. He carried a brief case. He would dart from one side of the street to the other, peer hurriedly at the buildings, read the signs in front of them and then furtively cross over to the other side again. Finally, at the end of the street, he slumped down to the curb and buried his face in his hands. I hurried up. Soon I stood directly above him. Tenderly, I helped him to his feet and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Tell me, my good sir,” I started, “why do you weep and dash so wildly from side to side?” “T am a salesman and it is already past twelve o'clock and I can’t find a single movie theater here that is showing a picture I haven't seen.” He wiped a tear from his wing collar. “I am afraid,” he continued, “that there is nothing left but to kill the afternoon.” “Kill the afternoon?" I questioned. “What do you mea “IT mean,” he answered, as the sobs shook his frame, “I mean, I'll prob- ably have to continue to call on the trade until five o'clock.” Arthur L. Lippmann _| DDDDD000D00DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDN000000000000000000000) [ comicbooks.com