Judge — February 26, 1927 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

LOOKS! LIKE) A. BAD SQUALL ! VOUCHSAFED) CAPTAIN EBEN My parrot told me a beauty yesterday. It seems wo boys were pretty well fried. Said Marcus, “Shay, kiddo, jush b’fore I met you five feet-pads held me up ou’si? my house!” “Well, Monk,” said the other, “ ’s lucky they did; you couldn’t have held y'self up! Heh heh heh heh heh!” Do your Christmas shopping early. Letters from a Boob Abroad Brigue, Switzerland. D™= Jupge—I'm having the time o’ my life over here in the Alps, Ju what with col- lecting Alpinestocks, joyriding on the glaciers, and fishing for the wily chamois in the raging moun- tain torrents, my time is pretty well occupied. Collecting Alpine- stocks is a great sport. You stand at the bottom of a thousand foot precipice and whenever a tourist falls from the top you grab his Al- pinestock. The one that gathers the greatest number of Alpine- stocks wins the game. I’ve got quite a collection already. Another and very popular Swiss National game is pitching yodels. It is a little on the order of the old American game of pitching horse- shoes. I’m getting to be quite pro- ficient. In another month I'll be able to pitch a yodel as far and as accurately as anybody. Stopped at Martigny (pro- nounced Mar-teenie) the other day. Ichanged trains there. In fact I changed trains eight times in an hour and a half and none of them was the right one. A porter finally told me that the train to Brigue, where I was ticketed for came in at sixteen thirty-five. Nobody can kid me, Jupce, you know that, so I said, “Whereja get that sixteen stuff?” sarcastic like and he point- ed to the clock, and hones’tuhgod, JupGe, cross my heart, there it was on the clock all the way from one up to twenty-four. F o'clock in the afternoon is seven- teen o'clock in Switzerland and midnight is twenty-four o'clock. There’s a double row of numbers all the way ‘round, I suppose use most of the natives double. While waitin’ for this sixteen thirty-five train I wandered around Martigny on a personally conducted tour. The town is about sixty feet wide and Lord knows how long. All the family washings are done in the horse trough at the town pump. The women all gather around the trough and pound their clothes on smooth boards. A poor old moth- eaten dray horse died here the other day; he came for a drink at the trough while the wash women were absent and choked to death on a green shirt. I met the man that Mark Twain saw fall off his farm in 1877. He told me he has fallen 146 times since that without injury. He now carries a parachute constantly doing his farming and has e electric elevator so he can get back up his chalet in time for supper. He was either a mighty progressive farmer or an awful liar. Hoping you are the same. —Nare Coiiier LVS “Ah, good-mornin’, Mrs. Mur- phy, and how is everythin’?” “Sure, an’ I’m havin’ a grand time uv it between me husband and the fire. If I keep me oye on the wan the other is sure to go out.” — Answers Cexeste—Go on wise-cracking, Cuthbert. Don’t mind Father he works in a comic strip for a living. comicbooks.com