Newspaper Page Text
8
THE ATLANTIAN
July, 1919
Are You ?
Feeling groggy, and sleepy during this hot
weather?
Can’t blame your watch for feeling the same way,
can you? But, say, man, we can wake it up and put
new life into it, so it will keep just the time you want.
Right on the second. Better bring it in now.
Have you seen the latest cuff buttons for soft
shirts. They are beauties and just what you need. Then
we have reconstructed ruby scarf pins, which are the
dandies to go with summer ties. Come in and let us
fix you up with one.
A. M. BALDING
17 Edgewood Avenue
that I was an electrician? I miss
ed my calling.
Jill—How’s that?
Jack—Why, last night, over at
Jane’s the electric light fuse burnt
out. Guess who fixed it? Me—I
—myself.
Jill—Huh You’re no electri
cian—you’re an idiot!—Pennsyl
vania 'Punch Bowl.
HER OPINION.
Mrs. Jones—Are you going to
bring home any fish for dinner
this evening?
Mr. Jones—Penelope, I cannot
have you insulting my friends in
this manner!—Columbia Jester.
Maid—.What d’ye think o’ that?
The Missus has got so interested
in that book, “The Responsibili
ties of Motherhood,” she’s forgot
all about the ibaby!”
EXPERIENCE.
Ardent Swain—Sir, I’d like to
speak to you about your daugh
ter. ^
Stern Parent—Why, what’s she
been doing now?—Widow.
“Mother, is it nearly lunch
time?”
“No, dear, it’s only 10 o’clock.”
‘ ‘ Um-m. My stummick must be
a little fasti”
Butterfly—Good morning, Miss
Pour O’Clock!
Miss P. O.C.—Good morning to
you, Mr. Yellow Edge. Sorry to
say I’ve had to move my name
back an hour. For the rest of the
summer I’m Miss Three OClock.
“MADE IN GERMANY.”
By Vilda Sauvage Owens.
He is so squat. I wonder what
Is moving in his mind.
He really is a dreadful bore;
There is so much of him before,
So mueh of him behind.
It’s just as plain as plain can be
That he was made in Germany.
He’s not at all refined. .
“You know that you are quite
taboo,”
I tell him haughtily.
He gently thumps a pleading tail;
It clearly is of no avail
To treat him haughtily.
“Cheer up, old top! I wouldn’t
swap
You for a priceless canine fop;
You are good enough for me.
you,
They couldn’t spoil the whole of
That blessed doggy soul of you
•Ne’er came from Germany.”
POETIC THOUGHT WASTED.
He failed in Latin, he flunked' in
Chem;
They heard him softly hiss;
“I’d like to find the fellow who
said
That ignorance is bliss.”
—Nebraska Awigwan.
0 TEMPORA.
‘22 (noticing two clocks on the
dresser)—What’s the idea—one of
them isn’t going?
’ai—Yes, but it’s such a good
check on the other one when it
comes to eight o’clock.—'Penn
State Froth.
SO SAID NOAH.
Girls with pretty ankles get the
least mud on their skirts.—Froth.
JUNGLE JUMBLES.
Professor—Can you tell me
something about hieroglyphics?
Stupid Stude—No, sir; I’ve only
studied the lower animals.—Wid
ow.
EXPLAINED;
“How do you do it, son? You
sleep in that class every day.”
“The prof is a retired minister
and doesn’t mind it. ”—Penn State
Froth.
“Johnny, it’s almost ten o’clock
—if you want to go to church.”
LOOK WHO’S HERE
R. G. DUNWODY
With a Full Line of
DRUGS
FRESH AND NEW
We need no introduction to the public.
Our record in this line in the past is a shining
example of what you may expect of us in the
future.
Call for anything you want that is carried in
a first-class Drug Store. We have it.
R. G. DUNWODY
141 Peachtree Street
Phones —* Ivy 5746, Ivy 5747; Atlanta 690.
Johnny (still half asleep)—
What time is it if I don’t want to
go to church?—Michigan Gar
goyle.
T. M. B.
There was an old roue named Bly
Who was perfectly willing to buy
Anything for the girls—
From silk stockings to pearls—
If they pull his white whiskers
and cry.
—Pennsylvania Punch Bowl.
NOT THE PLACE.
“Pardon me,” he said, “I bought
this shirt 'here yesterday. How
ever, I don’t like it and wondered
if I could change it at this coun
ter?”
“O dear no!” she answered,
“"You’d better go in a private
room.”—Yale Record.
HEARD AT THE COTILLION.
She—'Doesn’t Charles look dis
tinguished 1 in that full-dress suit?
He—How could he help it ? That
outfit in its day has been on the
backs of three football captains,
two editors, and the leading man
in our last college production.—
Stanford Chaparral.
CLASSIFIED.
Jack—Say, Jill, you didn’t know