Judge — August 22, 1925 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

SNAEPYOART |... | PRINTS for a MAN’S DEN “The Busybody” By Sam Broun A tantalizing and ‘appealing picture that is t wonderful deli delineation of virile hing rece motion. almost posable to'sce the turn and'toss of this attractive figure. isp vivid of the vet's original plates Printed on heavy Art t, size 854 x 1156 Carehilty packed aod sont, postpaid upon receipt of $1.00 each “Be Yourself” By Robert Patterson Allof the mad, frolicking impishness that is so often hidden behind a saintly mask of de- arene ters of E: been ack presen ga eps ine Printed in full color on heavy Art Mat, size 113¢ inches, ready for fi , Prints will be carefully packed 50c ART PRINT DEPARTMENT 627 West 43d Street, New York Nervous Husband (whose wife is ill)—Don't keep me in suspense, Doctor. Tell me the worst. Doctor—She’ll pull through! A Rabbit’s Day Vetenpar I played my first game of tennis this year—and last year, too, for that matter. I played because they wanted a fourth and would accept no excuse, attrib- uting my unwillingness to sheer lethargy rather than to natural modesty. So I sighed, put away my book, shook eleven moths from the old flannel bags, retrieved my racket from the lumber-room and went forth to the ordeal. There are several things that I can do reasonably well, but tennis is not one of them. Never, I fancy, will you see me at Wimbledon, carrying seven rackets, four blazers, three sweaters and an eyeshade, distribut- ing autographs with a languid grace, leaping about the court like an in- ebriated gazelle and scowling bitterly at the umpire. As a watcher of tennis I have few superiors; as a player thereof I have several million. Those with whom I tried to play tennis yesterday were, unfortunately, enthusiasts. Two females there were, of the hearty-voiced, large- footed, plum-faced kind; and one male—a man who smokes shag, drinks two gallons of beer a day and hits tennis balls as if they owed him money. All relatives of mine, so I can say what I like about them, thank goodness. We began by spinning a number of rackets violently in all directions and peering earnestly at them as they lay upon the ground. As a result of this singular rite I found myself partnered to a plum-faced female, —Gaiety who said that she would serve and would I go up to the net. I went up to the net, and her first ball hit me forcibly on the back of the neck, well-nigh stunning me. This, she said, was entirely my fault, because I was blocking her line of sight. We lost that first game rather severely, and the plum-faced female had one or two things to say about it. We lost the second game, too, because I only saw the ball once, which was when the shag-smoker drove it into my diaphragm and knocked me out of court. The plum- faced female said that if I wanted to go to sleep she would have a deck- chair brought out for me. We lost the third game also, be- cause I was serving. Now I can hit a tennis ball as hard as any man, but my aim lacks accuracy. To get the infernal thing over the net I must send it high into the air, with the result that the shag-smoker can do pretty well what he likes with it after it has bounced. This he did, remarking that the enforced wait for one of my services to come down was dangerous to a man in an over- heated condition. By this time the plum-faced female was muttering to herself and looking at me as if I was her dearest friend. Some men are all bull and a yard wide. comicbooks.com