Judge — July 23, 1927 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

How to spend the last three minutes of your vacation, How Retribution Came to Floyd McGee McGee was a_ truck- Not one of your truck- drivers that use perfume, wash Floyd driver. their necks and carry colored silk handkerchiefs—he was one of those strong, silent men. After having accidentally side- swiped and otherwise mangled eral cars in the early stages of reer, the virus entered his blood, and from then on he was practically incurable. Diana must have been strongly placed in his horoscope, for he became an in- yeterate devotee of the chase. He would be ambling along at a canter in his cute five-ton Mack, thinking (as all good truck- drivers do) of nothing to speak of, when suddenly a shy little Over- land sedan, or whatnot, would shrinkingly cross his path. More cften than not his passion for the hunt would assert itself—and then, little boys and girls, what fun! Giving the ‘“View-halloo,” he was off at once in pursuit of the unoffending car, following its spoor and stalking it down cross- streets, until finally in some lone alley the prey would receive its coup de grace, and, feebly waving its broken fenders, succumb with a squawk or two—or maybe a bleat, I don’t know. One day Floyd spied a majestic- looking, sleek Packard move lazily out from a side street. Suggestion for grade-cross- ing signal. Tinmediately the Inst for blood took possession of him, and, eyes glistening (for this was prey worthy of the name), he gave chase at once. 2. . Over subsequent events we draw the veil. Suffice it to say that Floyd McGee, his mind more of a blank than usual, had for- gotten that his trusty Mack safe at home in its little bed, and as it was his day off, he his own Chevrolet. —Hat Sauispury Mirage Imagine being shipwrecked upon a deserted island, far from the paths of traffic, with a beau- tiful girl as your companion. Imagine building a snug, com- fortable little hut out of the drift- wood. Picture the stocking of the storeroom with many and useful things thrown up from the ship. Imagine yourself strolling under the wind-swept trees with the most wonderful girl in the world at your side, with never a thought of bill col- lectors, book agents, work to mar the moments. foods Each day passing le gem in the crown of your existence; cach more marvelous than the one before. Imagine the years drifting into the past without a single defect or a regret. Yes! Imagine all this!) That’s as near as you'll ever come to it! —T. H. Warxins as a ver comicbooks.com