Judge — July 20, 1929 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

PLANTERS SALTED PEANUTS After the tennis game or whenever there's a hungry crowd to feed—serve Planters Salted Peanuts. There's real teamwork when Planters Peanuts and a husky appetite get together. These big, Virginia Peanuts are roasted and wholesome. Salted just right. “The Nickel Lunch.” Sold only in the glas- sine bag with Mx. Peanut on it. Buy a bag every day. Pranters Nut & Criocotate Company U.S. AL and Canada JUDGE PUBLISHING CO.. Ine. 18 East 48th Street, New York. N.Y Dear Jutce Om, mach liter amd fest, you be the bo your best ) 104 Regular weekly visite (2 years) $7.20 S2 Regutar weekly visits (1 yea 3.00 Name Pep up! Cool off! these Hot Summer Days waire’s ORIGINAL Wire aldine’s suitors. Honacr college men, A Gentleman of the New School (Continued from page 20) “No, no,” I objected hastily. “I don't need it. I don't play the market. I'm one of those ‘long pull’ Good morning.’ Again I extended my hand, but he merely leaned forward, re- ding me seriously. “T may be mistaken,” he said gently, “but I'd hazard a guess that you were one of those who were—Over There. You that—that look.” “It's the heat,” my wife's bills. month: us “You were, though,” he whee- dled. “Now, weren't you “Yes,” I admitted at last, with the inherent desperate modesty of the Quartermaster Corps. “I had about a year of it.” Ah,” he exclaimed happily, “then I have a treat for you. A treat indeed!" Again he dived into the voluminous brief case while I nervously awaited the ap- pearance of a German howitzer, a British brigadier, or Mademoi- selle from Armenti¢res. My dis- appointment was acute as he emerged with a large brown book. “History of the World War,” he said proudly. “In one hun- dred and twenty-six volumes, with authentic photographs and comments, dollars down and the rest “No, no,” I shuddered, cover- ing my eves. “I'm still trying to forget. The food—you have no idea. Once I found a piece of solder in the beans. All I crave is to be alone with my garden— have I said, “and Why, only last Horace, 1 wish you'd make a choice between Ger- It doesn’t. make any difference—I see they're all my window boxes, I mean.” “T understand,” murmured Mr. MeConnor, considerately hiding the volume under his coat. “I do understand; my dear sir, and I am prepared to take care of you. Do you,” again I watched his hand dive into the brief case, “prefer red geraniums or pink?” I reeled but rallied gamely. “Delphiniums,” I gulped. Nozw I had him. But he warmed me with an understanding smile, dipped into his vest pocket and tossed me a packet of seeds. “There you are. I have a soft spot in my heart for delphiniums myself. Eighty-five cents, please.” In a daze I id him, w hinted pleasantly that a “Polar Berg” clectric fan would work wonders of coolness in the office, and that he himself would install it in five minutes. Furthermore, in the unhappy event that the re- sulting draft might induce a stiff neck— “Dr. Wyman’s Limbering Oi he said brightly, whipping out a bottle. ndorsed by society women, six bicycle racers, naval officers and No, no,” I whispered feebly. “Nothing—nothing more, please, my dear young man.” Cradling my head in my hand, I watched him make his regret- ful way to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned. “One more question,” he said, ignoring my stifled groan. He irled his hat with a charming diffidence. “You don't, by any chance, know of a good job any- where, do you?” le he —Stantey Jones comicbooks.com