Newspaper Page Text
December, 1921
THE ATLANTIAN
19
HURRY, FLURRY, WORRY.
(By Life’s Trained Office Inspiration
al Expert.)
We hear a great deal about "nerves”
as the national American disease.
They are produced by our three old
friends, Hurry, Flurry and Worry.
Hurry, Flurry and Worry never go
on strike. If they get you, yours is
a short life and a quickly buried one.
Hurry always believes today is the
last day in the calendar. Flurry is al
ways falling upstairs, tripping over
his feet. Worrry is a disease of the
imagination. He forgets that tomor
row is merely yesterday that hasn’t
arrived yet, and that yesterday noth
ing much happened.
Hurry, Flurry and Worry—if you
can lick those three roughnecks you
will begin to yell “Eureka!” and “Ex
celsior!” in one breath. The knuckles
in your spine will turn to steel, and
the fear in your eyes will be beaten
into gleaming swords of will.
“Mother,” asked the New York
child, after hearing her mother read
aloud a letter from a country rela
tive, “what IS a spare bedroom?”
LET “DAD DO IT”
207 Whitehall St.
The Stork—Gee whiz, but my busi- And sent it back to me;
ness is poor! I have been around to Since when, I swear, its fate was due
all the rich families in town, and I Not to itself but thee!
didn’t get an order. —Shop-Talk, Atlantic Monthly.
A Scott Fitzgerald Philosopher.
Jones v as up for disorderly conduct
at a dance due—er—to a cause. As
he sent him away, the Dean put in a
little paternal touch.
“It’s too much wine, women, and
song, Jones,” he said; “you will have
to reform.”
“Yes, Sir,” replied Jones thought
fully.
The Dean was somewhat stunned to
read in the Prince next morning:
Jones Resigns from Chapel choir.—
Princeton Tiger.
MARCHING ALONG.
“More progress.”
“What now?”
“One of our ultra smart widows
has come out in sport mourning.”—
Louisville Courier-Journal.
When a man rushes off to Canada
these days, it is no use to get suspic
ious; maybe he has merely gone off
on leave of abstinence. — Florida
Times-Union.
I sent thee late a manuscript,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope—at last—
That it might published be.
But thou thereon didst only smile.
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A GOOD MATCH.
“Is she making a rich marriage?”
“I should hope to tell you; he is a
butcher who has been arrested three
times for profiteering.”—Le Rire
(Paris).
“Come on home, Bob. We won’t
get anything now."
“Not for me. I’m going to stay
here all night. I told my wife not to
buy anything for dinner because I’d
bring home a brace of ducks.”
Mrs. Scarsdale: Then you are sure
you want a divorce ?
Mr. S.: Absolutely.
Mrs. S.: All right. You take the
children, I’ll take the car.
CAMPHODINE—for Colds
Manufactured by R. G. Dunwody
A BARNUM OF FINANCE.
“They tell me that every minute
there is a fool born into the world,”
said the old financier. “And,” he
added piously, “thank God, some of
’em live.”—Town Topics (London).
“Have you heard today’s gossip?”
“No, I haven’t/’
“Then I guess there isn’t any."
.—Boston Beanpot,
ONE RESULT OF MODERN LET
TER-WRITING.
Mae Smythe was suing for breach
of promise. During the cross-exam
ination she was asked, “Did the de
fendant send you any letters?” “Yes,
sir,” answered the fair Mae. “Did
he use loving words?” “Did he! I’ll
say so! He always called me his dear,
and ended by telling me he belonged
to me.” And when the court had the
letters read, it was found he had ad
dressed her as “My dear Miss
Smythe,” and that he had signed them
“Very truly yours.”
NOT IN HER SET.
The Mistress (to new maid): I’m
sorry you can’t get on with the other
maids.
The New Maid: Nobody couldn’t,
mum—frightful dull frumps; not one
of 'em been in more nor five places
this year.—Sketch.
HIS PROGRESS.
“Do you play golf, Mr. Gloom?”
“No,” replied the cynic, “but I have
finally got so that I can stand to see
other people play it without insulting
them."—Kansas City Star.
Mrs. U. P. Start: I’ve had a rose
named after me.
Mrs. S. N. Ubber: A climber?