Judge — February 27, 1926 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

One Good Dawn Deserves Another LORINDA was ripe for heady flirtation and light love-making, and the ginny gaiety of people who knew how to make and take life. Then somebody’s nephew lounged into the doorway, cocked an eye upon the gathering—and saw Clorinda. He also saw the makings of an evening. Another minute and he had gently but firmly de- tached her from her partner. They danced toward the door and out of it. It is unnecessary to dwell upon the circumstances attending the next ten minutes. Suffice to say that at the end of them, Clorinda was being effectually kissed. Of course, it was reprehensible of her; it was also unwise, for it was perhaps the most, expert kiss Clorinda had experienced within her colorful memory. It stirred her more than Clorinda thought was possible; it made magic of the distant mirth and music. “I—let’s go back,” she whispered, but against his shoulder. ‘Or rather, you've got to take me home in your c: ards When a girl decides to walk home and then takes the wrong road, can you blame her for making the best of things? Maybe. But don't be so sure about that till you read “One .Good Dawn Deserves Another” by Valerie Vaughn in the current issue of Snappy Stories. Now on all newsstands—20 cents. Jour Buescher Saxophone ‘You can do it—easy. 3 lessons free with each new instrument give you a quick start. Prac- ticing is fun because you learn so fast. And it will make you popular, in demand, the center of attraction everywhere you go. Always a hit. Even if you have failed with some other instru: ment, you can learn the simplified Buescher Saxophone. Don't delay. Get into the big fun. Any instrument sent for 6 days’ free trial. Easy terms if you decide to buy. Write now for Deautiful, free literature. Address: Buescher Band Instrument Co. WY 1167 Busscher Block Bi (LEAR YOUR SKIN of disfiguring blotches and irnitatic .esinol 'NSIST UPON KEMP’S BALSAM: FOR THAT COUGH! Bore—That's Mrs. Knightly—she’s very keen on rescue work, y'know. Girl (yawning) —Oh—I do hope she comes over here. —Eve The Failure J Coottoorn’s pasteboard eye- lids opened with a bang that was heard half way across the river. The} opened on a panorama of shark's teeth, reefs, French crullers, and sand, desert sand, quicksand and balisand, as far as the eye could reach; and reach it did, arm length after arm length but it couldn’t reach it, try as it might. Barren, endless, headless, footless foothills flung themselves helter-skelter about on the landscape. Gigantic moun- tains of Charlotte Russe reared their creamy tips to the zenith; in other places it was level, on the level it was. Rugged rocky incisors gnashed themselves together along the shore; chewing the flotsam and jetsam and tossing it back again to the hungry waves. Here and there were clumps of horses’ hoofs, tufts of whiskers, and thickets of ragweed, hogwood, bogwood, mesquite, notquite, fudge- smudge and hodge-podge. Occa- sionally a dogwood tree stood on its haunches and barked at the moon. In the little valley across the creek bloomed the briar roses, rubber hoses and purple noses, scenting the twi- light with a rare fragrance like an old feather bed burning. It was Tuesday morning and Joe was hungry. Joe was always hungry on Tuesday morning. He built a fire of small bough wows from the dogwood tree, and over this he baked his meager breakfast of riddle cakes. He had left the G in his other clothes. Joe was lonely. Nothing but silence all about. Great open space 26 silences sliding up and down the canyons. Baby silences sitting in the trees and taking their biennial baths in the little creek. He didn’t know why he was there, he hadn’t even thought about it; but all the same it was maddening! Maddening! His heart pounded like a trip-hammer in his inside coat pocket! His arteries clogged up and burst like the explosion of a cold storage egg. His clothes were in shreds, so were his morals and the fried noodles in his hip pocket. Life was a hideous mockery! He would end it all! Yes, he would end it all! All his years of labor were wasted— wasted! The horrible barefaced truth dawned on his consciousness at last—he simply couldn’t raise a mus- tache! Nate Collier “I'd commit any folly over a girl like that!” “Then why don’t you marry her?” —Dorfbarbier comicbooks.com