Newspaper Page Text
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HEARST’S SUNDAY AMERICAN, ATLANTA, HA., SUNDAY, MAY 11, 1913.
Physicians Not Glum:
Here Are a Doctor’s Jokes
JEFF HAS HARD LUCK WITH HIS PETS
By “BUD”'
FISHER
Copyright, 1913, by the Star Company. Great Britain Right** Reserved.
Mutt and Jeff Appear Every Day in The Georgian
D
\
OCTORS are not the lugubrious sawlwnes that. tradition would
have them. In fact, they should have n greater store of humor
thau the Inymau, because most of tlietr world ts pathos, and suf
fering, and anxiety, with
few bright spots that must
lie seized and treasured eng
drly.
This, from the statement
of Dr. Louis Koughlln, At
lanta physician, who, like
every otlier physician, has
seen the dark spots and the
bright spots. Here are a
few of the latter, as he re
lates the stories:
f
.iu
X
TT^ :
IpT
Everybody and his broth
er knows that there are
dangers In the delightful
pastime of kissing, not the
least of which Is the menace
of germs. So much for the
introduction to this story.
A young man came to me
once for examination for tu
berculosis. I asked him the
symptoms.
"I ain't got no symptoms,
doc,” he said.
I asked him what disease his father and mother died of.
“They didn't have no disease,” lie said, “they just died."
"Well, why do you think you have tuberculosis? T asked him. He
blushed.
“Well, you see. doc,” he said, "It’s
this way. I’m courtin’ a girl, and
we kisses and all that, you know.
I heard that she’s got tuberculosis,
and I want to know- if I caught It
from her.”
(Terms may lie transmitted In this
way, and 1 told him so. After ex
amining him, I sent him on Ills way.
Two days later another young man
came in.
“Doctor,” he said, “I want you to
examine me for consumption.”
“What are your symptoms?’’ I
asked him.
"I ain’t got no symptoms, doc."
he said.
I asked him if his parents were
living. One was dead.
“Of what disease?” I asked.
“Pa didn’t have no disease, doc,"
he said. “He just died.”
I wondered why he thought he
had tuberculosis, and asked him.
^Ge e, T’ve 6o,e ~\
swen. eer esow.
A LM)Y (Vwe tAfc 1
GOLOSH* I>* CoONNe ,
TA ’ 6 'TRlfcHf NO«*e i
Wr.
Y>(* SO MUN&ttv I*S SKK
t M(VM6N'T PoW. *
wieek ano t ain't <cffrace«r.
T '*fi So Nesx t<U. HASt To
So so»t and tie Down
7
SO WUNGR'I
CauuO
NcvseLr
I'M l
NT
1C >
He said he roomed with the man
whom i examined two days before,
and was Ills best friend.
“But he didn't have tubercu
losis.” I told him.
“I know,” lie said, “but be might
have bad.”
I tried to laugh down his fears.
“How docs that affect you?"' I
asked. He blushed.
“Well, you see. doc.” he explain
ed, “it’s this way, but for I he love
of Mike keep It quiet. I’ve been kiss
lug Ills girl, too.”
* * •
The opinion of the laity regarding
germs and their size Is wonderful.
Also, regarding everything else
about germs their nature, origin
and all that. It reminds me of an
old joke that nil doctors have heard,
maybe.
A German, a Frenchman and an
irishman were debating about the
nationality of germs. Each proudly
claimed brotherhood with the
“bugs.’'
“Sure, de.v iss German,” said
Heinle. “Dot's vere dey gets dere
names—germs, from Germany,
don’d you see?”
“Saere bleu, non I” exclaimed the
Frenchman. "They are Frenchmen.
Have you never heard them called
parasites? They came from Paris,
truly.”
“Ye're both dead wrong.” chimed
in Pat. ”01 till ye they’re Trish,
becase their real names is mic
robes.”
• • •
But enough for germs. They are
unpleasant subjects at the best.
Maybe you’d rather hear of a little
Incident that occurred sooil after
prohibition came to Georgia, and
when things were very, very tight.
I was called one day to rush to
a place where an office building was
being erected. A man had fallen
several stories, and was seriously
hurt.
I found him stretched on the
ground, not so badly hurt as Ibe
alarm had declared. I called for
a glass of water, after I had hastily
examined him, and held it for him
to drink.
"What's that doctor,” he asked,
feebly.
“It’s jus! water,” 1 assured him.
He sat up immediately.
"Good night I” he said. “How.far
does a mail have to fall in this
darned town to get n real drink?”
* * *
1 once lost the friendship of a
vaudeville leading lady who had
been my friend for years. I lost
it because 1 did not remember that
vaudevillians consider their station
in their profession established by
the place
which is given
them on the
bill. The first
place is con
sidered the
“goat" assign
ment, second
place is little
better, and so
on.
SNOOKurv®
WANT SOME
NICE CHEESE
STEW AND
Li vER WORST
YES?
/
This particu
lar star usually-
had been giv
en the head-
liner's posi
tion, well to
ward the end
of the bill. But
coming to At
lanta after
many previous
tours, she was
surprised t o
find that her
act was num
ber two on
the bill.
She and her husbaud came to me
in a rage. I knew them, having
been connected with the theater as
its physician.
“Can you imagine those low
brows putting an actress of her po
sition and talent in second place?”
asked her husband, stormily. “Can
you?*’
“Yes. 'can. yon?” the lady herself
raged. “The
idea of me,
always a
h e a d 1 i ner.
stuck in that
goat’s' act.
What do you
think about
it?”
“Well, I
should say,”
J declared
s v m pathet
ically. “They
are wrong.
You really
ought to have
been in the
first act.”
And the
haughty air
with which
she left my
office c o n -
vinced m e
that s o m e-
thing was
wrong.
It was just my ignorance; and
my ignorance was worse than that
of a couple who called me in to wait
on their eleven-months-old child.
“Little Billy is mighty sick, doc
tor,” the mother told me. “He’s
all wrong inside.”
I examined the child. He was
wrong inside. Plainly he was af
fected by something that he had
eaten, i asked them what they had
fed him.
“Nothing, doctor,” she assured
me. “Nothing much.”
“You know,” I said, “that a child
of this age should have the lightest
of diets, based on milk? Have you
fed him anything else?”
“Nothing much, doctor.” she^ said.
“Of course, snookums likes a pickle
now and then, and usually we let
him eat sauer kraut.' We always
have it. But nothing to hurt him.”
• * •
Another patient of mine was an
old family negro. He came into my
office one day, groaning and grunt
ing and very sick.
“What's the matter. Uncle Eph
raim?” 1 asked him. “You seem
sick.”
“Yassir, 1 is sick. Mist’ Louis,”
he said. “I sorter think dis ol'
nigger’s gwiner die. * Oh, Lordy.”
“What's the matter. Uncle Eph
raim?” I asked.
“Oh, Mist’ Louis, dis ol’ nigger’s
mighty sick," lie groaned.
“Where?” I asked.
“I’s got a awful misery in my
ehist,” he said, jiatting his bosom
gently. “I sorter think I’s got <le
tube-roses. Can’t yo^ tell me?”
• * •
He was like the old man who call
ed in a number of doctors. This old
man sent for a physician to come in
a hurry. The physician went to his
side.
“Oh, doctor,” said the patient,
“I wish you had come just five min
utes sooner. Dr. Blank was here,
and I wanted you all to talk about
my case.”
“Is that so?” said the doctor.
“I’m sorry. Well, now, what did
Doctor Blank do for you?”
“I don’t know, doctor.” said the
patient, “he does so much.”
"Did he take your temperature?”
“Lord knows, doc, I don’t,” said
the old man. “I been here on my
back a long time. I misses my
watch the other day, but if he’s
gone and took anything else, r don’t
know it.”
• * *
That reminds me of the patient
who came to a local doctor for his
troubles. The physician diagnosed
the case as a mild nervous affection,
wrote out a prescription calling for
a compound that is an efficacious
nerve tonic.
The patient looked at the formid
able array of symbols and Latin
words.
“Gee, doc.” he asked. “How milch
will this cost?”
“About a dollar, 1 guess.”
“Wdil, say, doc," said the nerv
ous one, “can’t yon land me a dol
lar to have it filled with?”
The doctor looked at his patient
critically for a moment, then took
back the prescription. At the bot
tom of the long list of drugs was
the word “Aqua.” which, as evsry-
body knows, is water.
The physician took his pencil and
scratched out all the words except
the last, “Aqua.” Then he tamed
to his patient, handing him a dime.
"Take this prescription now, and
this dime, and have it filled,** be
said. “I was wrong with my first
diagnosis. You don’t need a news
tonic. Yon have enough nerm”
New Styles m Wit
Encouragement.
Competitor—I see yon have rm
that joke of mine at last.
Editor—Yes, we were shy an ex
changes at the last moment and had
to rely on a joke from Punch. To
make it seem funny we ran your lit- *
tie offering just above It.
Neither.
*T heard an alarm of fire, I ftitnt,**
he said in the theater, “and I must
go out and see about it.”
Returning after fifteen minutes*
“ft wasn’t a fire,” he said, shortly. *
“Nor water,” said she, still more
briefly.
MIKE DONLIN
In "The Rounder
and the Swell”
TOM LEWIS The Diary of a Cut Worm—By u. Green Fields
Copyright. 1912, by Urn BUr OnmpMy.
L EWIS—Who was the seedy gent you were
talking to as I turned the corner!
DONLIN—Oh. he was one of those "please-
gtve-a-dlme-for-ooffee" chaps. Saw this dress suit
and tried to nick me. I gave him a sweet young
call, though. I told him that he would do better to
ask for manners than money.
LEWIS—Oh. well, you shouldn't have been so
harsh. He was only asking you for what he thought
you had the moet of.
DONLIN—1 heard something shout your having
a fuss on Fifth avenue.
LEWIS—No, on Eighth avenue. *
DONLIN- What was it?
LEWIS—Well, you see, .llininv Thornton and 1
had been to the Square Table Club s beefsteak din
ner. and as we were wending our way
DONLIN—Winding
LEWIS— Winding our way home. Thornton began
to sing "I Loved You When You Were Sweet Six
teen. He was hitting high “c" when a big Cossack
cop loped up and said, “See here, cut that out!
Where do you think you are. in the Metropolitan
Opera House?" Thornton got very sassy, and in
sisted that he had a perfect right to sing one of his
own compositions. So he started all over again
Then the cop crowned poor Jim with his big stick
and put him to sleep. 1 let fly both hands and
floored the copper, and was giving him a fine trim-
ring when Jim suddenly came to. He rubbed his
eyes and then looked over at the cop that 1 was
pounding. Then he got up and. walking over,
kicked me In the ribs, yelling “Hev, Lewis, get a
cop of your OWN; this one’s mine—l m not through
with him!”
DONLIN—How's your wife?
LEWIS—Had a row with her this morning.
DONLIN—What about?
LEWIS—She was dressing to come down town
to dinner, and when I got an eyeful of that new
drees I said, “That dress, madam, will never please
the men.” Friend wife got right up on her high
horse and yelled, "Mr. Lewis, I don't dress to please
the men, but to worry other women “
DONLIN—What was your father!
LEWIS—A farmer.
DONLIN—Ian't it a pity he didn't make you fol
low his trade?
LEWIS—What was your father?
DONLIN—Why. a gentleman, of course.
LEWIS—Pity he didn't make you one!
DONLIN—They tell me that your father was a
quaint old duck.
LEWIS—Did you ever hear about the time be
drove down from the mountains to Bee his first
railroad train?
DONLIN—Go ahead with it.
LEWIS—Why. you see, we lived on a vineyard
twenty miles from the town. They built a rail
road through the town, and on the day that the
road opened, father hitched up the old gray mare
- ■ —<t. *—to »wentv miles to see his first
let 1 il wait but little longer, men . „
Gr**t Britain JltfhU R«aerred.
he found quite a crowd there before him, for the
first glimpse too. Father drove right up near the
track and hitched the old mare right to the switch.
"Better git your old hose away from the track.”
said Zeke Prouty, who had been made station mas
ter; “he ain't never seed no locomotive and he's
sure to rip and tear."
So father took his advice and unhitched the mare,
and took her off in a field nearby and tied her to
a tree. Then he came back for the buggy which
stood right by the track.
J’a got between the shafts and picked them up
Just as a distant toot was beard. In another sec
ond the big locomotive, drawing a string of ears,
whizzed by the station with a roar.
DONLIN—Well?
LEWIS- Father ran three miles and smashed tlie
buggy to bits before he stopped!
DONLIN—Say, if a parson and Satan went to law
which do you think would win?
LEWIS—Satan, it's a cinch.
DONLIN—Why so?
LEWIS'—All the lawyers would be on his aide,
wouldn’t they?
DONLIN—Speaking of horses, you should have
seen the animals of all kinds that my father raised
Say, father reared the biggest calf ever turned out
of our Stale.
LEWIS—I don't doubt it. and the noisiest be
sides.
DONLIN—Did you take your usual stroll through
the park this morning?
LEWIS—Yes, and T hadn’t any more than started
when I was stopped by a beggar who said. “Pray,
sir, pity me. I have a wife and six children."
DONLIN—What did you say?
LEWIS—Told him to accept my heartfelt sympa
thies. that I had six too.
DONLIN—What pleased you most when you vis
ited England ?
LEWIS—To see the funerals.
DONLIN—They tell me that you were panning all
the modern literati at the Comedy Club the other
night. '
I/EWI8—What of it!
DONLIN—I suppose that you would have abused
the ancients, too, If you had known their names?
LEWIS—1 saw some wonderful paintings abroad.
By George, but Rembrandt was a wlz! I wonder
what in all the world be mixed his colors with?
DONLIN—Brains'.
LEWIS—An old man—an awful crank—sat near
me at the Waldorf during breakfast
DONLIN—At the Waldorf?
LEWIS—Yes. why* not? This old fellow ordered
a steak, and after he had waited patiently for his
meal for a full half hour he called the waiter.
"Boy, are you the lad wto took my order?"
“Certainly,” said the waiter
Bless me, how you've grown, said the old fel-
OevsrtKbt, IK!3, by (be #Ur Orcmpsey. OrwU Britain RijftiL- Kewrred.
S ATURDAY, March 22—I’ve been awake a fortnight now, and things
are certainly dull here. No one has spaded up this garden. I do
hope the man who owns it won’t get lazy and neglect his garden
this year. g
SATURDAY, May 10—Oh, my! the man’s perfectly crazy now. We're
eaten off all hlg lettuce, all his second crop of cucumbers and all but one
of his second lot of tomato plants. That one has grown so stout I’m
afraid it will take us another week to kill 1L
SATURDAY, March 29—Am feeling better. The man spaded up half
the garden plot to-day. I burrowed Just an inch lower than his spading
fork reached. He ought to be getting in his early peas and such things.
SATURDAY, April E—Well, he's planted his peas, some lettuce and
radishes The peas weTe well soaked in water before planting. There’s
enough here to feed me until they begin to sprout. I don’t like radish
seeds, they are too hard. I'm glad he fixed up the fence. I was afraid his
neighbor's hens would get in. Hens are so careless; they’ll gobble up a
respectable cut-worm just as quick as a seed.
SATURDAY, April 12—Now the cold frames are out and there are a
lot of cucumber and tomato seedlings under it. I certainly was glad to
get a taste of something fresh and green. I lairly stuffed myself, ate off
seven tomato stalks and eleven cucumber seedlings. The man has
planted a lot more.
SATURDAY. April 19—If ever a out-worm was a lucky chap. I’m it.
The man has enlarged hlB garden and planted more. He has set out a lot
more vegetables and flowers around the borders, and planted beans and
a lot of other stuff.
SATURDAY, April 26—This garden is certainly some paradise. The
peas have sprouted and the radishes are doing fine. I must get some of
my friends to help me. There's enough here for about 800 of us. Gee,
wasn't the man mad when he found I had killed all his cucumber seed
lings and half his tomato plants. I missed a lot of the radishes, though.
They grow so fast one simply cannot eat them all. and as soon as the
roots begin to grow they get strong and peppery and are Indigestible.
SATURDAY. May 3—This is some garden, all right. I’ve got all my
friends busy now. I think there must be at least 750 of us. Poor Willie
Cut-Worm passed on yesterday. The man made me laugh, though. When
he got Willie and killed him, he exclaimed; "This is the feller that's been
killing my stuff.” Just as though on# poor cut worm could find time or
room to eat everything in a big garden. •
<.r>,
■W
.iff;.
SATURDAY, May 17—Believe me, that poor boob is
wild now. Every one of his beans has fallen. We
cut each one off close to the ground just when the third
leaf was starting. They are tenderest and sweetost
then.
SATURDAY, May 24—I’m a little bit discouraged.
He’s got some rhubarb coming up and it is growing
so fast we cannot kill it, and it is a little too sour. I
think I d better send for some big white slugs, thejf
lova rhubarb and they’ll soon fix It.
■■. ’
fW'
®|pj
iiRilji
•;!«?$% J
SATURDAY, May 31—I got a green tomato worm t#*
finish that last tomato plant. It got too big for us. Th^
radisheg are out of the question, but I know some borers
that will come and drill into the radishes and spoty
them. The man is certainly game. He had planted his
second lot of beans and his third lot of lettuce and h!a
third lot of cucumbers. Some of his early peas got past
us, but I know of a lot of aphids that will Just eat 'em
up. j
P- ? : 'j
: Pi
V-k
(f-f
ISli?
SATURDAY, June 7—Man has planted sqoadh. I don’t
like squash, but my fourth cousin, the triangular squaeb
bug, just dotes on them. I wish his beans would hurry
up and sprout. We haven’t had any tender green stuf|
for a week. Of course we can’t eat the weeds; that’s
a bargain we have with the weeds.
BlSS
Si
iniiiw
! V>
-''•Ito..'
SATURDAY, June 14—Those beans were fine. The
second crop is always best. Out of four rows we ate
all in three rows and half of those in the fourth. Tfcg
things the man said this morning were shocking.
SATURDAY, June 28—Oh, well, everything must have an end. M
us cut-worme are going to move over into the next yard where there's a
dandy garden. The man here is such a mean quitter he has raked
over and planted grass seed. x
N OEL HIBBS sees no reason for
raising such a hullabaloo over
this new faogled notion of sleeping
out of doors. He says he sleeps on
the front stoop himself about three
nights a week when he’s not able
to locate the keyhole or arouse any
of the members of his family. He
rather likes it. It helps remove
that mauve taste from the mouth,
and your tongue feels less like the
beard of a prophet in the morning.
Many of the girls In town are
^ookire forward to the season at
The Rural Editor’s Scrap Book
the seashore with a great deal of
pleasure. One young lady from
this town got her bathing suit
wet last Summer. Those Summer
thunder showers come up so
quickly that you are unable to
reach shelter sometimes.
1913, by the Star Oasnpgny. Greet Britain Rights R<
in order to produce self-raising
umbrellas. At least so Dame
Rumor says, and the Dame bats
about .400 in the Truth League.
Deacon Norwood has success
fully tried out a scheme of graft
ing hop vines on umbrella plants
Here’s hoping our local base
ball team does better this season
than last. They were so- far be
hind last year you couldn’t tell
whether they were last in 1912
or first in 1914. v fi_, ~
•red.
From the frequency with which
the oil wagon stops at a certain
house on the ridge and with
which the daughter of the house
cleans the parlor lamp we should
say that Cupid was about to get
out his range finder and land
two more hearts. What say you,
Lee?
We are going to take up our
gsteatps pencil tp wfipaly sup
port Abner Sneed aa village
treasurer. In the first place, his
training as manager of the glue
factory on the ridge has taught
him how to make a f scent go a
great ways.
Old Noel Stone was calling on
the Widow Beemer one night last
week, and the fire of love got to
burning so strongly within him
that the heat cracked his glass
eye right in two. Never mind,
Noel, the course of true tor
aeve£ ^ ftifl smooth.