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BIST HUMOR, MOVING
PICTURES, VAUDEVILLE.
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ATLANTA, GA., SUNDAY, MAY 1!
1913
2
At the Giltsons’
Gay Musicale
By Lewis Allen.
Copyright, IK, hy the Star Company. Great Brttain Right* Reaerve,
K8 VAN DER GUSHE (A* string sextette beg,»*- "
TUT .train! from "Lucia" )-Oh. Mr. Glisten, don't you Just adore the
MR TlTsTON (Trying to appear comfortable)—Can t say. Never
MR. G1L ™ V J UmoU6ln e7 Mine la a ninety-horse power—
STRANGER (On Giltson's right)-Theee thing* are torture. | " eVer
arteTtitem except when I have to. How did you happen to ho
ru TRON—Duty. You have my sympathy.
VOICE fA. masie suddenly .topxJ-Nev.r heard of Glltson until he
“‘^GER Oilt.on) Who ,s the — with the ptomaine
expression on her face over hy the door f S£le
GILTSON (Looking, then smiling gtimly) That
giving the musicale, you know
is giving things: no one wouid pay for
STRANGER—You have to give these tninga,
them
MRS. VAN DER OUSHE-Tlie Barcarole from "Hoffman
GIL8TON—I'd rather play pinochle according to Hoyle.
MRS VAN DER GUSHE My dear Mr. Glltaon. I am referring to
.v. » —« »” —' 1
MaH ^- d E^ MONT^Rd' eA never — 1
een either have a cigarette or do a little tango with
HER ESCORT—What say we do the sneak and go up to Hausmittums
for a bracer?
PENELOPE—It’s a go. (They tip-toe out.)
OILTBON (As red-headed woman begin, to play viohn)-Sutlerm
stone-crusbere.
STRANGER (On hit right)—What say?
GILTSON—Where on earth did Maria pick up that human torch?
Of all the Jokes on the human anatomy
STRANGER-That air. is my daughter. May I ask you who you
* re ~GILTSON Oh, never mind me; I'm only the husband of the freak
with the ptomaine-poison expression.
(Stranger exits hastily.)
MRS SWELLEHTON (Whispering hoarsely to young man on her
left) LDear me. these Giltsons are newly-rich. and so coarse and-
YOUNG MAN—And pikers; eh. what?
MRS. SWELLEIv TON (Relieved)-Slang Is so expressive at times.
Have I evei met you before?
YOUNG MAN—Nope; I’m the coarsest one in the family
MRS SWELLERTON (Nervously) I don t quite
YOUNG MAN (Grinning)—Mv name Is Glltson, but 1 assure you l’d
been here if mother hadn’t Insisted.
(Mrs. Swellerton, red of face, nastily exits.)
S R ENNERY UPSINSDOWNS (Awakened from dose as orchestra
op,ns with Wagner's "Pilgrim’s Chorus")-My word, what bally discord-
j_ eh wtiat? oh, to be sure, the musicale. (Falls asleep again.)
FIRST BASS VIOL (As string snaps)—Donnerwetter!
ERNIE HAROLD MACPUSH-Tee-bee! Tee-hee!
HIS MOTHER—Hush, Ernie; I know the Giltsons are crude and
funny, but be a little gentleman.
TENOR (Supposed to he sispinpJ-Dreee-inker—tulimuh. O-o-o
—knlee—whlh—thinize
HORACE MUDGETT (Mrs. Gilt son's country wish these
gingers wouldn’t use them foreign languages.
HIS WIFE—Hush, Hod; some one might hear you. That Is English.
He » singing ‘‘Drink’
HORACE—Wish T could, hut that Isn’t either singin’ or English.
VOICE (At tenor finishes)—Breaking her neck to get Into society.
but
G1LTSON—Isn't this junk pretty near over?
MRS VAN DER GUSHE—How droll you are, dear Mr. Glltson. yes,
thl, is the last number Dvorak’s “Humoresque."
GII.TSON—Huh?
MRS. VAN DER GUSHE—Dvorak's “Humoresque.”
GILSTON—Oh, yes; he is funny. I heard him at some vaudeville the
etShe/ night doin’ a monologue in blackrace. He sure is funny. I didn’t
know Marla got him
MRS 8WELLER (To her,elf)—Miserably slow. (To Mrs. Glltson,
who"sit, beside her for a moment) A great success, my dear Mrs. Glltson;
rve been enraptured every minute.
GILTSON (To Mrs. Von Der Gushe)—Here, this Is nothing but an or
ehestra piece. I thought this
d applause. Every one moves about and gets up. Glltson hurries to
' ° wife.)
GILTSON—Say. Marla, I thought you was going to have Morts, the
humorist.
MRS GILTSON—John Giltson, la that a Joke? It sounds vulgar
enough
(HUTSON—No; thin ain’t no joke. Mrs. Van Der Gushe said you
were going to have him last
MRS. GILTSON (Coldly)—Look at yonr programme. She told you
th-> laat number was Dvorak's "Humoresque"—a monologue—you—oh.
thank you. Mrs. Sweller. so glad you enjoyed It.
SIR ENNERY UPSINSDOWNS—My word, dealt Mrs Glttterson,
never heard such dashed fine music—never
(Babel of voices, expressing their delight at musicale and making their
adieux to hostess.)
GILTSON (After Inst guest departs)—Thank
MRS. 0LIT80N (Sharply)— John, write a oheck for *800.
GILTSON—For what?
MRS. GILTSON—For the musicians.
GILTSON—Sufferin’ fishes. I thought they had to pay us
(Sound of scratching „1 pen in check book.)
CURTAIN.
Sam, the Drummer
By T. E. Powers,
the Famous Cartoonist
QO To BALTIMORE AND SEE IF
You CANT SELL PER KIN 5 looo
dozen sprinq waists, g-et a
WiqqLE on You BECAUSE: I HEAR
Bilkin 5 8^Co Are after histkade,
"V
I Q-ET You,
boss:
J
So You ARE OOIN^To BALTIMORE
HoW STKANQE, &o AMI, .
J DONT KNOW A SOUL THERE.
miiiiiwilffll
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till
1
v
£
Yes lb Just Love to have Xoo
SHOW ME THE ToWN BUT You MUSTNT
CALL ME NELLIE AQAIN.MY NAME 15
Miss Jones
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1 JUST WAIT HERE
|||’WHILE I <dOlN AND
SEND ATELEQRAH
AND WRITE A
LETTER..
don't move
TILL L ConnE
BACK.
5A^
SAT! IF A LADY COMES HERE
AND ASKS FblCME TfcLL HER
IVE QoNETo PERKINS]
STORE AND ILL I
RiqHT BACK
f MR PERKIN 5 JM From
BILKIN5 QtCo. I WANTTo
SHOW Yoo A NEW LINE
'op WAISTS
'SEND ME
IOOO DOZEN
f FAREWELL
CRUEL WORLD.']
5 CL __
Ponies and Carts!
Where is the boy or girl who
wouldn’t like to drive one of
them. The Sunday American
and the Georgian are
Giving Them Away
Why I Hate to
Go to Ball Games
By De Wolf Hopper
(He’s Barely Seer, at the Grounds—in the Winter.)
Copyright, 1913. by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved.
B ASEBALL! That’s u game I hate. And the reason 1 go to the
game every day is because it does a man good to feel hateful a
few hours out of every twenty-four. All smiles and no growls
makes Jack an awful boob.
They call hasehall the national game. It’s a lie. Chickens are the
national game. 1 ought to know; I’ve hunted them all my life.
And do you realize that those baseball players are the greatest
home-wreckers in the country? Why, they enter into a conspiracy In
every game to tie the score in the ninth, so that they can play half a
dozen extra Innings and make seven thousand fans late to dinner.
Then they all repair to their dressing rooms and gloat over what
seven thousand little wifies say when seven thousand little hubbies come
inarching home.
I’d rather come home at S o'clock in the morning than S in the even
ing. any day. A hot breakfast is far more to tie desired than a cold din
ner.
• • •
Another disadvantage that baseball suffers as compared to grand
opera is that one can never buy Indian nuts at the ball park. (I always
call peanuts Indian nuts because of the red skins.) In the loft where
I roost at the opera the opera fans are always cracking nuts, jokes, etc.
Rut at the hall game there is nothing to eat. drink or be merry about.
The players all sit down on a nice soft little concrete bench, with a keg
of ice water in the corner, while we sit out on
the broiling bleachers and turn Into blonds!
Why use peroxide? Let Hie sun rays make
your little golden locks.
Then those players are always such a
cold, dispassionate, unmusical, inharmonious,
discordant bunch. How many times I’ve tried
to get a little quartet together 1*0ween the
innings and start a little song. Well, I could
always find a first bass and a second bass,
hut never a sopralto. And if 1 mentioned the
word tenner they’d all swear they were broke
and chase me to the box office.
Americans think they know a lot about
baseball. How about the Japs? Uhl you ever
stop to realize that the Japanese make the
greatest fans In the world?
I hate hasehall because I’m afraid of the
umpire. When a man’s so ferocious you have
to put a muzzle on him it’s time to run him
Into an asylum and not allow him rampant on
the ball field. Even the catcher has to put on a stralghtjacket and hide
his fape In a cage for fear the umpire will bite him. Some people don’t
lielleve that umpires are fed on raw meat. Well, they are. That’s what
makes them growl whenever the ball is thrown. Now. I’ll let you In on
a little secret. You never stopped to think about the winter quarters
of the umpires, did you? They’re up in Grunt Park in the animal house.
In training for five months, caged up and chained down.
Yet the temerity with which some of the players walk right up to
the umpire and start to argue with him would lead one to think that the
umpire isn’t a wild man.
They call hasehall the great American game, but why should Ameri
cans be so keen about it? I can see why every other nationality should
like It hut Americans. The Englishman likes baseball because he likes
to see the pitcher put the English on his demnitlon curves. The Scotch
man can appreciate it on account of the highballs, and the Irishman
loves the game because lie’s the only one who can play it.
* * •
Take the South African. He's an expert on the diamond, while the
Australian is the guy who started the bush leagues. The Bulgarian comes
to tiie games because he likes to catch the pitcher balkin’, and, as I said
liefore, the Jap is crazy about it on account of the fans. And when the
Spaniard is away from home lie goes to a baseball game where he ean
hear the eoachers throw the bull. So you can readily see that baseball
is supported by our foreign visitors.
* * *
Now. far be It from me to knock the game. If I wanted to do those
people real harm I’d get the smallpox and walk around in the grand
stand with it two or three afternoons. The reason I hate it Is because
Pm entirely too familiar with it, and familiarity breeds contempt, in
fact. 1 laiglu say, most transcontlnentall.v, that I ain so familiar with
hasehall that I am actually wedded to if.
Hul cricket ah, there’s the terrible game. There are eight million
and thirty seven runs to every game, and if a man can't register a thou
sand runs every time he comes to the hat
they rail him a bally rotter. That's what
they call the fellow who strikes out In base-
hall, you know.
One game of cricket lasts about a week-
sort of a six-day race, except that instead of
the players riding wheels they carry the
wheels in their heads. It's the laziest game
manufactured. Each player hats once during
the day, and the rest of the time he eats,
sleeps and watches the others. At night they
all lie around in the grass and listen to the
Crickets sing, just to keep their minds on
the game.
If there’s one game that truly delights me
it's golf. As old Han Daly used to sa.v, it’s the
game where you hit the ball and then go and
hunt for it. If you find it liefore sunset you
win the game.
I once played in a jolly little foursome with two ladies and another
Iierson. Well. 1—I missed the ball and—and broke my promise, and—
and for the next five minutes you would NEVER have known that there
were any ladies present at all. Rut when 1 saw them faint I resolved
then anu there that all my future golfing excursions would he decidedly
onesoraes.
Whenever I get the golt fever now I just detach my cuffs and run
around the links.