Judge — September 20, 1930 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

With Sound Friend—But you don’t mean to tell me that you bought that new limousin: just to satisfy a whim of your wife's? The Other—Ah, you don't know her, old man, She's got a whim of iron, —Hemorist According to T. Y., the wife of one of our more prominent bootlegs way of doing her shopping earl just bought her husband a Pro! agent for Christmas. —N. Y. Evestno Post An amateur boxer accepted the invi- tation of a professional who was meet- ing all comers. As the referee intro- d him, the amateur tugged at his and whispered in his ear. id Binks ires me to state,” said the referee at this is his first ippearance in any ring.” he professional ducked a wild swing, led with his left and knocked the teur down. The referee stood over the fallen one, counting him out. At eight the dazed youth sat up and spoke in a husky whisper. The ref- raised his id for silence. id Binks vsires me to state,” he said, * is his last “Hello, Ted. How's business?” rance in an: ig “Fine! Wonderful! But itll Scarnoroven Post pick up.” Add Sillies Al Stauderman wonders if you've heard about the feller who sneez when speaking to the trans-Atlanti telephone operator and she connected him with Russia! —Dairy Mirror The plumber worked and the help« stood helplessly looking « learning the business. This was his first day. he inquired, “do you charg: for my time?” “Certainly, you idiot,” came the re- ply. “But I haven't done anything.” The plumber, to fill in the hour, had been looking at the finished job | with a lighted candle. Handing the two inches of it that were still un burned to the helper, he said wither ingly: “Here, if you gotta be so darned conscientious, blow that out.” —Masonic Crarrsaan Willie was being measured for his first made-to-order suit of clothes “Do you want the shoulders padded, my little man?” inquired the tailor “Naw,” said Willie, “pad th —Paturinper l I SAY, DAWLISH OLD FRUIT, WHAT SPLENDID STRIPED YAWNINGS! TWITTERED THE. EARL OF PAWTUCKE' Take the brushwood off that Goth’s ears, Fred, you can’t burn your Vandal at both ends. “Now ¢ tough guy,” rasped the Criminal Sessions beak, “I sentence you to hang on Monday. Any remarks bet there are!” snarled the pontiff of the Pants Gang, “It’s a hell of a way for me to start the week off!” She looked at him with eyes half mocking, half Irish, in them a slow insidial poison which turned men into swines like Circe of old. Epwanp Lance PeiNtiNe CO comicbooks.com He was |