Life — March 6, 1884 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

: ane Ae =a VOL. III. MARCH 674, 1884. NO. 62. 1155 BRoapway, New York. Published every Thursday, $5 a year in advance, postage free. Single copies, 10 cents. Back numbers can be had by applying to this office. Vol. I., 20 cents per copy; Vol. II., at regular rates. Tue editor begs to announce that he cannot undertake to re- | turn rejected contributions, ONSIGNOR CAPEL sent a dispatch to this office eight days ago asking space for a reply to the few notes ap- pended to his letter in Lirg. A telegram was sent in return, to welcome the distinguished theologian’s screed, but up to the hour of going to press no word has been received from him. We are led to infer that either the MonsIGNoR’s time has been too much engrossed to admit of his resuming the lance in our petty tour- ney, or that his most valuable promised letter has gone astray. In justice to him, this notice becomes necessary. * * * CORRESPONDENT of our sagacious contemporary, The Boston Post, is led to believe that the wreck of the ‘‘ City of Columbus” was due to the standard variation of the compass. This is no doubt true, but there is some scientific ground for the belief that if the vessel had been in charge of men who knew a | lighthouse from the full moon, the compass might not have To attempt to cover up the reckless- varied quite so disastrously. ness which caused such terrible loss is to be accessory to a crime. * * * R. TOOTER WILLIAMS had a bad eye and several kings when the Rev. Mr, THANKFUL SMITH opened the | first jack-pot at the regular meeting of the Thompson Street PoKER Civ, Saturday evening. Mr. Gus JOHNSON saw that a powerful brew of mischief was at hand, and prudently laid down two pair; while Mr. CYANIDE WHIFFLES, who had a severe cold, a pair of eights, and very little horse sense, came in. “‘T rise dat two dollahs,” said Mr. WiLLIAMs, quietly, but with truculence of intent. “Yo? ’s gittin’ too brash,” rejoined the Rev. Mr. SMITH, testily. ‘Ef yo’ tinks yo’’s de Vandybilk er dis pahty, jess—jess stack 'em up. I rise yo’ six dollahs.” Mr. WILLIAMS considered for a moment, during which time he thoughtfully examined the cards which with great foresight he had previously pinned to the leg of the table. “T calls,” he said, at length. Mr. WutrFLEs fled. The Rev. Mr. SmiTH dealt Mr. WILLIAMS two cards, and conscientiously helped himself to the last ten-spot remaining in the pack. He then banged the honored wallet on the table and said: “ Gimme two cyards.” Nye ee “Leven dollahs.” “T calls yo’,” said Mr. Wit.tams, secretly unpinning the hidden hand, and counting out the money. The Rev. Mr. SmiTH swept the pot into his pocket. “ Wha—whadjer doin’ ?” gasped Mr. WILLIAMS, aghast at this | unparliamentary proceeding. ‘*Fo’ tens,” said the Rev. Mr. SmirH, showing down that remarkable hand. ‘‘ How many freckles yo’ got on yo’ han’ ?” he inquired. “‘V’se—I’se jess—jess clum over yo’ tens,” said Mr. Wartsans, with an effort to be calm and look honest. ‘Shome up,” said the reverend gentleman. Mr. WILLIAMS unfolded four jacks. They were all there. ““Wharjer get um?” was the next point in the Rev. Mr. SITH’s catechism. “ Outen de pack, er course,” said Mr. WILLIAMS, breathing hard. The Rev. Mr. Smitu’s reply was to reach over and weave his fingers firmly through the roots of. Mr. WILLIAMs’s hair, Then he thrashed around the room with him for a few excited minutes and then sat down uponhim. Mr. WILLIasstill breathed heavily. ‘* Wharjer get dem jacks ?” “Outen de pack,” again responded Mr. WILLIAMS, making a feeble effort to get up. The Rev. Mr. SMITH butted his head nineteen times against the floor with great rapidity and violence, and again inquired softly: “« Wharjer gettum ?” “Outen de pack. Leggo my kinks,” urged Mr. WILLIAMS, still breathing heavily. Again his head was butted violently against the floor until the landlord on the floor above was im- pressed with the idea that the Club was refreshing itself with a solo on the bass drum. “ Whar—jer—git—dem—jacks?”. inquired SMITH, emphasing each word with a double butt. “ Outen—de—” here Mr. WILLIAMs faltered. “Outen de what?” asked the Rev. Mr. SMITH with a tem- porary cessation of hostilities. ‘* De bug,” said Mr. WILLIAMS, doggedly. ‘‘ Lemme up.” The Rev. Mr. SMITH unloaded himself from Mr. WILLIAMS’ abdomen, rose, crossed the room and possessed himself of the extra cards pinned to the table. “ Dis whadjer call de bug?” he asked. “Yezzah,” said Mr. WILLIAMS, gloomy but respectful. The Rev. Mr. SMITH assumed his overcoat. Then he replied to Mr. WILLIAMS. the Rev. Mr. “Toor, by de prowishuns of rule sixty fo’, yo am suspended till de next meetin’, an’ doan yo’ work de bug no mo’. Mistah CYANIDE WHIFFLES an’ Gus Jounson will now come down ter de s'loon an rassle wif a sassenger an’ some Deer The Club then adjourned. Mr, WiLttAMs breathed heavily. comicbooks.com