Newspaper Page Text
December, 1921
BRIEFLY DESCRIBED.
“What is velocity?” asks a science
journal. We have always thought that
it was the thing with which one lets
go a wasp.—London Opinion.
BAD SIGN.
Lady—Aren’t you ashamed to beg?
You are so ragged that I am ashamed
of. you myself.
Hobo—Yes, it is kind of a reflection
on the generosity of the neighborhood,
mum.—American Legion Weekly.
A VANTAGE POINT.
“Move on,” said the policeman.
“I'm just watching the world go
by,” said the tramp.
“You can’t do that on a street cor
ner. Get you an income and a club
window.”—Birmingham Age-Herald.
A GOOD CARVER.
George Ade, from his box at the
Carpentier-Dempsey fight, nodded in
the direction of a beautiful young
woman with very marvelous jewels.
“That’s Cora de Trafford. She
carved out her own fortune,” he said.
“Rot!” protested a cinema producer.
“That ex-chorus girl didn’t carve out
her own fortune. She married Hugh
de Trafford, the wild septuagenaian
millionaire.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Ade, “but think how
many other chorus girls she had to
cut out to marry him.”—Detroit Free
Press.
CAMPHODINE—for Colds
Manufactured by R. G. Dunwody
THE ATLANTIAN 9
Wifey—You never take me seri
ously.
“I did once.”
LET “DAD DO IT”
207 Whitehall St.
FANCY AND FACT.
By Thomas J. Murray.
In Asia Minor, I would gladly fare,
Searching for treasures through the
gay bazaars,
My love to pleasure; peacock fans that
flare,
Sweet myrrh and sandalwood and
turquoise stars.
I’d mark the prayer rugs form the
lotus lands,
That burned through history by the
ancient Nile;
Red coral strings from splendid sun
set standards,
And jasper combs from plains
where camels file.
Incense from India in amber jars,
Cashmeres and silks from shores
where temples pile;
White ivory from East and silver bars,
All I would ravish that my Love
might smile.
Rich spices from the isles past Singa
pore;
But Thrift’s insistent voice intrudes
and then
I hasten gaily to a local store,
I might get something in the Five
and Ten.
i i t.
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PROVANO’S
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LEE AND GORDON STREETS
FIVE TELEPHONES
iSome of these home brewers are so
inordinately proud of their concoctions
that when they give a fellow a taste
he has to act spiflicated or they are
insulted.—Baltimore Evening Sun.
MAKING A HIT WITH CUSTOM
ERS.
After a spectacular chase which
lasted several minutes, the proprietor
of the Palace Cafe, “tables for la
dies,” overtook a fly and dealt it a
lethal blow with a swatter.
“Good work!” exclaimed a patron.
“Anybody seeing you do that would
say that you run a sanitary place.”
“Just confidentially,” replied the
proprietor, “that’s why I did it. I let
that fly in on purpose.”—Birmingham
Age-Herald.
Little Jack Jett, of Terre Haute,
was going away on a few days’ vaca
tion when he came to kiss his mother
good-by. ’ She kissed him rather hur
riedly for there were still some of his
things to get ready, but he caught her
hand and said: “Mother, I didn’t like
that kiss. I want a movie kind.”
“A movie kind?” his mother ques
tioned.
“Yes,” he insisted, “one like the
movie people always give—a hang-on
one for a long time.”—Indianapolis
News.
Poetess (calling oh newspaper ed
itor)—Who was that polite little of
fice boy who showed me in?
Editor—Oh, that’s the page devoted
to women.
DECIDE NOW.
“Ethel,” he whispered, “will you
marry me?”
“I don’t know, Charlie,” she replied
coyly.
“Well, when you find out,” he said,
rising, “send me word, 1 will you? I
shall be at Mabel Hicks’ until 10
o’clock. If I don’t hear from you by
then I am going to ask her.”
She hurried up.—Houston Post.
HOODOOED.
Visitor—Why are you here, my poor
man? ,r
Prisoner—I’m a victim of dat un
lucky 13, lady.
“Indeed! How’s that?’’ , . ,
“Twelve jurors and one judge.”;—
San Francisco Chronicle.
THE CADDIE’S RETORT.
“How are you playing?” we asked
a golfer at the club the other day.
“You know me,” said the man. “My
regular game—a lot of careless work,
but now and then a good shot. Always
there are some good shots sprinkled
through the day like plums in a pud
ding.”
“Gee,” said the man’s caddie. "I
wouldn’t want to have to eat that kind
of a pudding.”—Detroit. Free Press.
ANOTHER HOBBY.
“Does your husband spend as much
time as he used to with his automo
bile?”
“No, it’s his home-brew, now.”