Judge — December 26, 1925 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

Faruer—Just what I wanted. The Adventures of Flubb and Tubb (Continued from page 25) Flower Pot Employees’ Mutual Bene- fit Association,” proudly continued Tobias, “I thought the company might pay the expenses of a New Year’s Eve dance this year.” “Enough!” bellowed Flubb, his face assuming the color of a beet. “You’ve cost me $2,000 for machin- ery to make the Kris Kringle model. You’ve lost about $5,000 already on the model. We built a special fac- tory to make them and now you want bonuses and dances!” Then the famous Flubb blood pressure, a source of steady income to Dr. Gray, the family physician, got in its dirty work, and two days later Henry Flubb was sent to Atlantic City for a month’s ccmplete rest in charge of two competent, though by no means comely trained nurses. Leave it to Mrs. Flubb. * * # ke It was Christmas morning. A massive Christmas tree adorned one corner of the living-room in the Flubb mansion. Toys and gifts were heaped about its base and the three Flubb grand-children were having a lovely time dissecting a new radio set. A glowing fire burned merrily in the grate and Henry Flubb, attired in a gift smoking jacket and, for diplomatic reasons, wearing Mrs. Flubb’s purple and yellow-striped gift necktie, stood by the window and gazed at his grand-children with the same ex- pression of self-satisfied approval that he regarded his Flubb pots. Then the butler entered. ‘Mr. Tubb to see you, sir,” he softly an- nounced, ushering in Tobias. Last year some of the chimneys were a tight squeeze for Santa Claus—this year it’s going to be different! “Merry Christmas, Mr. Flubb,” said Tobias, depositing a package on the table. “Costly Christmas you mean,” grunted Flubb. “I haven't seen you in a month. Where have you been?” Then with the recollection of the Kris Kringle model returning to him: “How dare you come here?” he thundered. “Oh, just a little gift for you,” answered Tobias, producing a sheaf of railroad bills of lading. “Just thought you'd like to know that the last of the Kris Kringle models were shipped out the day before you came back from Atlantic City.” “If my blood pressure didn’t for- bid me laughing too heartily,” an- swered Henry Flubb, “I’d roll on the floor. That’s the best joke I heard since—” “Since you saw ‘Maybelle Mack- intosh and her Whizzy Widows?” At the mention of “Maybelle Mackintosh,” Henry Flubb shud- dered and gazed anxiously out into the hall to see if Mrs. Flubb was within earshot. “Not so loud, Tobias,” be muttered. ‘Why those Kris Kringle pots were turned down by every flower pot buyer in the country. If Z couldn’t sell them, no one can!” “Well, it takes a real salesman to sell these days,” sarcastically an- swered Tobias. “You see, Mr. Flubb, when you told me that Greenstem had canceled the order I got a great idea. I had those Kris Kringle pots made into little Christmas banks for the children and had each pot painted: ‘See Your Money Grow ina Flubb Flower Pot.’ Here’s the dia- gram and sketch,” he shouted, en- thusiastically producing this draw- ing from his pocket: Who says the comic strip episodes are exaggerated? {AS SS Se a re A Tr, | | | | comicbooks.com