Judge — November 21, 1925 — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

TWO NEW GIRLS By DELEVANTE The ‘‘See-Saw” shown on the center spread of this issue of JUDGE has been reprinted, as an Art Print in one color, from the engraver's original engrav- ing, on heavy Art Mat, size 19x15 inches. This striking picture is a companion to ‘‘Just a Song at Twilight” and ‘‘Book Ends.” Prints will be sent postpaid to any address upon receipt of 50c. “Just a Song at Twilight” Printed on Heavy Art Plate Paper with wide margins. Size about 19 x 15. Sent postpaid to any address on receipt of 50c. “Book Ends” Also printed on Heavy Art Plate Paper, with margins for framing. Sent postpaid to any address on receipt of 50c. ALL 3 PICTURES FOR $1.25 JUDGE ART PRINT DEPARTMENT 627 WEST 434 STREET = NEW YORK, N. Y. Auctions Speak Louder than Words (Continued from page 25) “Haven't you anyone at home who'd like a gen-you-wine Chippen- dale cabinet?” demanded the auc- tioneer. “My wife might,” Tobias, half to himself. “Your wife might!” roared Unger. “You've got no sweetheart, but you have got a wife, eh, young man? A fine state of affairs when a man so young no longer calls his wife his sweetheart! Who'll give me 8215? The bargain of a lifetime. Act quickly—going, going—” Suddenly an overpowering desire to sneeze seized Tobias. His nos- trils burned and in a moment his head jerked forward in the pre- liminary movement to a_ sneeze. Unger saw it, his eyes gleamed in triumph and he shouted, “Sold to this handsome young patron of the arts—this collector of the beautiful, the unique and the artistic.” Then he addressed ‘Tobias directly. “Come right around to the rear of the store and we'll settle up. You owe us just $300. Our truck will deliver the goods to you imme- diately. Where do you want them sent?” Great sobs shook Tobias. He hadn't the courage to back out now. Ahead he pictured a lonesome cell in the State penitentiary, with a ball and chain around his ankle. In des- peration he blurted out—‘Send them to Tobias Tubb, traffic de- partment, the Flubb Flowcr Pot whispered ee | 26 “THE SENTENCE WAS A LONG ONE” The Judge—Have you anything to say before sentence is passed upon you? The Prisoner—Yes, my lord. I would ask that the time my counsel took in his speech to the jury be deducted from my sentence! — Bystander Company, twenty-sccond floor in the Flubb Building.” Then he put his hand in his pocket and felt a picce of paper. He drew it out and turned away in shame. On the paper, neatly typed, was: “A Mission Faithfully Ful- filled Makes the Angels Sing.” ese eee The lights .were beginning to blaze in the Flubb Building when Tobias despondently _returned. Already the workers were pouring out of the steel structure on their way home. The Flubb Flower Pot offices were dark and deserted, ex- cept for a brilliant patch of light that shone through the glass door labeled “Henry Flubb, President— Private.” Tobias peered into his own office and with a ghastly shudder saw therein the outlines of a gen- you-wine Chippendale cabinet, a Clois-on-nay vase of the Ming dynasty and a lacquered Chinese cabinet that had been quite a help to the baby emperors in their time. Without a word Tobias pushed open Mr. Flubb’s door and softly said: “Send for the police, Mr. Flubb, I haven't the $300—I haven’t paid the printer—and the angels aren't singing.” But Mr. Flubb did not reply. He sat at his desk, an expression of fear on the noble face that had launched a thousand wall mottoes. Here was complete, supreme, unmodified de- jection. He looked like a man who had just bought the Brooklyn Bridge for $5 and had discovered his error too late. “I say, Mr. Flubb,” repeated comicbooks.com