Judge — June 4, 1932 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

such marriages often turned out quite all right. I found her a young fellow my lad, a longhaired sealy full of jump and run and play whose children would be bounding pedigreed acrobats. I introduced the youny lovers, but somethinyy I didn’t reckon on hap- pened. As soon as they’d crossed paws, Ping Pong young Lochinvar a queer look 1 audibly, removed a hunk of his ear and was off like a streak. As for the poor jilted, he withered into a mood indigo leaving imme- diat for a monastery. As much as I felt sorry for him, I was a little disdainful. At least he might have pulled some caveman stuff. A few minutes later, however, I saw Ping Pong. She was up on the crown of a hill, giving the Ind Love Call. A second later her Ind appeared: the shaygiest, laryest. clumsiest and most nondescript ex- ample of a crossed up footed hyena you ever saw. Her boy friend. They d red hand in hand into the s It came to me with a great awak- ening light: You must never tamper with love. As soon deflect the courses of rivers with whiskbrooms. I recognized the boy friend and tho I shuddered at his points I knew true love will always out. He had been hanging around my house for da: I couldn't go out but I'd see him skulking in the bushes. He had a face like a ghost but he’d brousht his portable kennel, some bacon and flour, fleas, and a serenading guitar for a long courtship. I'll always ad- mire his pluck but if he ever comes around again I'm going to have my shotgun handy and legalize his great poetic feelings. the way who wants a puppy? A nice police setter or maybe you'd prefer a scotch daschund? You can even have a dogsled team, after I vive Mac the three I promised him. Nocturne Champagne ; crazy about interesting people. Goodness knows I like to stop talk- welt Dass AyeEM FOR WHO | SLAs A case JUDGE OUT OF MY HOUSE — You You — AA! TAKE —\yYourR BAGGAGE WITH You !/ ing once in a while and listex. And 1 certainly met a spellbinder in a Hush Hall kitchen the other morn- ing just as the sun was sitting on the edge of his bed looking at his toes. I warn you this is another rum running story. I am young, a lover of life, and want to keep my end ‘way ‘way in the offing so I shall mention no names! A man got himself a fleet of sisan- tic trucks and painted them in exact imitation of the trucks of a well- known milk company. To give you an idea of the size of the trucks, each one carried five hundred cases of champagne. The fleet set to run- ning ‘n'forth back’n'forth be- tween New York and Canada unmol- ested. Came a night when there was an interruption. The pilot car at the head of the fleet was stopped by another car carrying two revenue office: The revenue officers were firm—for a while. I don’t know how such details arranged, but in the end the two revenue officers agreed to “pass” the trucks from then on. Their “fee” was $2 for each case of champagne run. This went on for eight years—right smack up until very recently. The revenue officers received in the neighborhood—and what a lovely — neighborhood—of $3,000,000 through those eight years. Came another night, the recent night. The great man behind the fleet of trucks somehow learned something that made his fate very red. He went out with the fleet this night himself. He was accompanied by three or four quiet, intent yentlemen with artillery slung under their arm pits. The revenue officers, with the artillery now at their backs, were pushed into the great man’s cur ned limousine and whisked away. They were never seen again. You see, the great man after eight a learned they weren't revenue after all—just a couple of darn clever phonies! Credit Will Cuppy CERTAIN young man was in the habit of talking to himself con- tinuously so he thought he’d better see the psychiatrist about it. T pundit examined him thoroughly for flows in his upper story and said: —"Don't worry, you'll get over it.” “Yes I know,” said the young man plaintively “but I’m such a terrible bore!” —Jupce IR. comicbooks.com