Judge — December 29, 1928 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE DADDY, WE'RE GETTING GRAY AT THE TEMPLES, ROARED Here's one that I offer THE RABBIS with misgivings—I'Ul do the tenor part and she'll sing bass. “Wha's dat new job you ban got on de railroad, Jake?” asked Brett. “Well, honey, you-all knows de explained Jake. Beaucoup Bunk (The scene is the kitchen of a very famous exclu with a French n marcel-waved > restaurant ne. Pierre, the waiter, has just come through the swinging doors from the dining room, Mike Kelly, the “French” chef, is smoking a corn-cob pipe and reading the latest Police Ga- cette.) Pierre (reading from his pad) —Two ragout @ la Printemps, two pommes de terre @ la Napo- leon, two Rochambeau tarts @ la Joan of Arc, Mike (reaching for his ladle) —Okay, kid. All ready, here's your roast beef, your mashed po- tatoes, your Pierre—Mon Dieu! Mike, have you no sense? Do you want to drive our customers away? We must wa at least ten minutes before bringing out the food. How about a game of two-handed pinochle? Mike—No, not me. alon Let me I'm reading a good story. (Pierre writes a short note to his 4 dat goes alongside “Well, ah helps him listen!” the miracle of the loaves and vicious. de mother in Bayonne, N. his musta Jo. waxes he, polishes his finger- nails, and finally goes to the radio on top of the ice-box.) Pierre (fumbling with — the dials)—Anything good on to- night? Jacques told me that the Thompson Tortoni Company was broadcasting a program of French songs. Mike—Shut off that blamed radio. It’s getting on my nerv ay, how long since you came in? Pierre (consulting his watch) —About twenty minutes. It’s a The street dept. goes modern! train an’ taps de azles to test ’em?” Blackout, boys, and trim the stage for little soon, but I guess I can pro- duce the desired effect now. All right, Mike, load me up. (Pierre approaches the table where Mr. and Mrs. George Mun- son of Fort Wayne are anxiously awaiting their dinner.) Pierre (in his best French)— Ah, Monsieur Munson, ze chef, Georges Les Boutelicr, he make your sopper special for you weeth loving care. He make for you ze zymphony in food, ze beautiful poem in pommes de terre, ze de- licious sauce which he make only for ze nobility. Ah, mes amis, ze soul of ze chef ces in your wonderful sopper. Mr. Munson (sampling the ragout @ la Printemps)—Say, ma this is swell! Yuh can’t be: these little French places. can you? Certainly tastes different when these frogs make it to order. Mrs. Munson (who took two years of French at high-school) Mmmm. As the Frenchman says, c'est joli, n’est-ce pas? Mr. Munson—Yeh! —Artuvur L. Lirpaann comicbooks.com