Judge — April 24, 1926 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

The City Editor at Home “Hes AND charges that serious shortage ey in sugar supply,” the city editor observed, as he sat down to dinner and found the sugar bowl empty. “Probes in sugar situation begun,” his wife answered, going to the pantry. “Sugar stolen, belief,’ the city editor continued. overies point toward sugar ”” his wife stated, exhibiting an empty jar. “War declared on sugar thieves,” the city editor announced. “Arrests may follow sugar probes,” his wife said. “No clues in sugar theft,” the city editgr stated. “Boy’s fingerprints in sugar mys- tery,” his wife discovered. “Name Harold, junior, as sugar theft suspect,” the city editor said. “Practice of naming Harold as alleged thief flayed,” Harold chimed in. “Sugar shortage mystery solved,” the city editor’s wife suddenly an- nounced. ‘Husband gets blame when supply used for home-brew.” “Nearest grocery objective in dash for sugar,” the city editor declared. “Dad nabs hat, departs,’ Harold remarked. Allan R. Bosworth pile uaee First Marve Guive—Hear ye’re mighty prosperous lately, Eph. What ye doin’ that’s so profitable? “Hi jackin’ fishermen.” keen-cutting sorrow we feel for Al Skinn Who swallowed his knife at an informal dinner. Anhnabe butlrrae eta vent ys 35 fOr each ong pitt at Printog Vt Revever—Look, Susan—I broughtcha useful present—a hic—parrot. “You fool! Will it talk?” “No, but itsh a darn good lis’ner.” Story With a Moral AM sitting uncomfortably in a barrel half full of molasses on the brink of a precipice 3,000 feet high as I write these words. Can you picture me sitting here with molasses in my eyes, on my nose and in my hair? I really don’t look very nice but then I don’t care, there is no one here to see me. At least I don’t see anybody just now. I cannot get out of the barrel for the minute I move it topples back and forth right on the brink of eternity. I really don’t care to topple back and forth on the brink of eternit especially with molasses in my hair. How I got here is a long story, much too long to tell in a few words, and as my vocabulary isquitelimited, like an express train, I couldn’t tell it if I tried, and besides it probably wouldn’t interest you anyway; but if at any time you are in this neigh- borhood and see a man sitting in a molasses barrel on the brink of a 3,000 foot precipice you'll know it’s me- If you don’t see anybody in a molasses barrel sitting on the brink of a 3,000 foot precipice you'll know that I toppled once too often. Moral—Keep out of molasses barrels. Nate Collier comicbooks.com