Judge — June 18, 1927 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE “Why, what do you mean? This isn’t a one-piece; I’m wearing my spats!” The Result of Reading Too Many Summer Resort Pamphlets— I am going to spend my vaca- tion at the New Trianon Hotel where they get fresh vegetables from their own cow in the foot hills of the Canadian Roe! just a few moments’ walk from the beach. Fanned by ocean breezes, I shall wander through pine-scented forests in a palatial cabin on the commodious, com- fortable S. S. Gargantuan where the fishing is excellent and the hotel bus meets ty train, where there’s alwa omething doing and no mosquitoes walk two miles to the golf links. In a homelike room with running water I shall pitch my tent in some primeval forest glade right by the board- walk for three dollars a day and up in God’s Great Silence I shall ride a pack burro into the depths of the Grand Canyon where the string ensemble plays three times daily. Roaming ’cross Brittany in a one-horse shay on foot where every vista pleases and the golden sun rises eight thousand feet above sea level the famous Grand Hotel here’s romance and_ re- laxation for jaded nerves without malaria and home cooking. Oh, it’s off to the gypsy trail with open plumbing and hot salt water baths from the old oaken bucket ies five miles from the State road as the crow flies. where the rates are reasonable, the evenings cool and steamers sail Wednesday from Pier 43 on the summit of majestic Mount Washington. —Arturer L. Lippmann S&S every The second-hand car passeth nothing but understanding. The Fair Rewards He was a very rich old man, this Silas T. Mogg. A bit of a coot, too, with a mind of his own. Nobody ever put anything very permanent over on him, even after he had completed the dietetic eyele and returned to crackers and milk once more. Then ab- ruptly he passed on. “Who's going to get his money?” they all demanded. He had no relatives—no one who could contest the will. Eventually the lawyers made it public. “All of my worldly goods I srewith bequeath to Mr. George Iton, to h and to hold for- ever, Witness my hand and seal. Silas T. Mogg.” Everybody was thunderstruck. The old gentleman had only met the fortunate Mr. Tilton two or three times. What had made the big impression? The final para- graph in the will divulged the peret: “IT make this bequest because the aforesaid Mr. Tilton is the only father who has never nudged his children at me with the words, shake hands with Uncle Silas, dearie.’” —Srtantey Jones Simon—The trouble with Fenestra is, she has altogether too much pulchritude. Simoxerta—That’s funny; I always thought she was Isinda pretty. comicbooks.com