Judge — January 23, 1926 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

— If prosperous collectors dressed in harmony with their antiques. Old Stuff AMERICAN Antiques, Inc., was probably the best-known antique factory in our town. It was con- nected to Grand Rapids by means of a special railroad track. The new furniture came in the back way and two days later went out the front way, only it aged several hundred years in those two days. I certainly felt sorry for the sucker tourists who drove past Sundays and fell for the old farmhouse that had been built up around the front yard. I used to look out of my window and laugh myself sick seeing them carry away Windsor chairs that “had been in the family for 300 years, but were being sold now to send Marthy to school in the big city.” Marthy was Jake Ginsberg. The Windsor chairs were still train sick from their long ride from Grand Rapids and Jake had just bought a new Cadillac. But I’ve quit laughing. About a month ago I was ’way up in the Maine woods and spent tue night at an old country farmhouse. You know, the kind where you can be sure that all of the stuff is real. And there I saw a lovely Duncan Phyfe table. I examined it closely and it certainly was genuine. I es- timated it at least 200 years old. So I wired Jake: “Can buy real Duncan + Phyfe for my home. Legs have worm holes and top is broken in two. Price two hundred and fifty. it?” Jake wired back: “Are there any live worms in it?” I wired him: “Yes, counted eight.” Jake an- swered: “Does top squeak when you press?” I wired, “Yes.” Jake an- swered: “Buy it. It’s a bargain.” A week later I had it set up in the front room and invited Jake to come over and look at it. “Pretty old, eh, Jake?” I proudly announced; “the real thing, if there ever was one.” But I noticed a strange look in Jake’s eyes, as he examined a worm, which was coming out of a worm hole in the top. “‘Why, it’s even got worms in it,” I gloated, poking Jake in the ribs. “Worms, yes,” answered Jake. “That’s the trouble. This table was shipped from my factory last week. That’s one of my trained worms. Here, Ignatz,” Jake called, whistling. And, to my astonishment, from every part of the table—from hun- dreds of worm holes, came the trained and true worms of American An- tiques, ete. Hugh Wood Shall I buy Caution Mrs. Saylor—Henry, are you try- ing to keep something from me? Mr. Saylor—No, dear, Just from the neighbors. Girlomine Yor eyes, my dear, do not remind me Of stars in evening waters dipped; The silken fetters of your hair don’t bind me— How could they, when you wear ’em clipped? Your mouth may seem a startling, scarlet flower, ~° But if it does, it’s one I’ll never see; Your neck does not suggest an ivory tower, In fact, it looks just like a neck to me. You do not dance like leaves or blossoms airy, But, flesh and blood, you more robustly whirl: You're just a girl, no goddess, queen or fairy, But what a girl, old darling, what agirl! Thomas Pye A collector of antiques discovers a rare old chest. 19 comicbooks.com