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IIEARST’S 'SUNDAY AMERICAN, ATLANTA, OA.. SUNDAY, MAY 18, 101;}.
Wild Flowers
I Have Met
By Mike Chesterfield.
THE DAISY.
F armers do not ilk* the
daisy. They call It "poverty
weed” and say It ruins their
hav crop.
But they haven't met the real
Daisies. That’s why they are
farmers.
The daisy has a pale complex
ion with a peroxide crown or
heart. But the Daisy I met was
pink and white, and when I In
sinuated that her hair was perox
ide she promptly became a wild
Daisy.
Daisies dot the fields and mead
ows In the country, but the Daisy
I met did nothing of the sort; she
got me dotty, however. 1 used to
sit under the great elm trees with
this Daisy and talk and talk and
talk. We picked the field daisies,
pulled out their petals and mur
mured, "She loves me, she loves
me not, she loves me,” etc., etc.,
etc.
And when 1 caught Daisy cheat
ing by pulling out the last two
petals at once so as to make It
come out "He loves me,” she once
more became a wild Daisy.
That was the day she carried a
red parasol, and as we wandered
through the meadows a gentleman
friend of the cows on that farm
caught sight of Daisy just as she
opened the parasol.
He was certainly polite, for he
apologized profusely by bowlns
and scraping his front feet and
moaning, then he hurried up to
meet Daisy.
Did Daisy rnn? She did not
She just closed her red parasol,
slapped the beast across the face
with It and then poked It in his
eye.
Believe me. she was some Daisy,
that girl—just then, in fact, she
was a bull’s-eye daisy!
One day we started to make a
daisy chain. I decorated It with
laurel leaves. At least, I thought
'they were laurel leaves. But later
the doctor looked us both over and
said they were poison Ivy leaves.
Talk about your wild daisies;
this Daisy was the wildest one on
record. In fact, she never got so
wild before, and only once after
that did she become as wild.
That was when I left her and
picked a modest little Violet
I’ll tell you about Violet some
This Suffragette Had to Go Back to the Kitchen
N EI) MATTHEWS i8 a candidate
for Mayor. Opposing him is a
dark horse—a suffragette, who
is known only as Elsie Smith. This
Elsie Smith is none other than Ned
Matthews’ wife, she choosing to conduct
.her campaign incognito lest her hus
band make trouble.
Confidently expecting her election,
Mrs. Matthews fits up one of the rooms
in the house as her headquarters. Mr.
Matthews comes in.
Oopsriffht, 1913, by th« Star Onnypanr <»re*t Britain
Rights Ram*r»w1
MATTHEWS—I would like to know
what that desk and that banner are
doing In my house and In my very li
brary’
MRS. MATTHEWS—They belong here.
MR. M.—Well, let them stay here. But an-
awer one question, who la that old hen up
there?
MRS. M.—Old hen la ahe? Let me tell you
that Elale Smith and Mrs. N. Matthewa are the
an me.
MR. M.—What! You are this Elsie Smith?
Well, I’ll be blowed! My own wife my political
rival. The woman who swore to love, honor and
obey me.
MRS. M.—Yea, that’s Just It. The women of
this town have come to the conclusion that mat
rimony is not their sole destiny, and they de
cided to be first In the affairs of the nation.
MR. M.—Why, It’s contrary to the law of
nature. Wasn't a man made first?
MRS. M—He was, but the experience gained
In making man was applied to making a much
bettor and finer being, woman.
MR. M.—If you women hadn't been made at
all It would have been a lot of money in our
pockets.
MRS. M.-—But when woman first met man he
didn't have any pockets.
MR. M.—No, he didn’t need them then. He
didn’t need anything but a smile. Then dear,
kind, sweet woman came along and took that
away from him. Then woman Invented pockets
—so she could tell where the poor man carried
money. Now I suppose you have another rot
ten apple you want me to eat? Well. I don’t
care for fruit But tell me. you don’t think
you have got a chance to win?
MRS. M.—Why, of course I do! And In
twenty-five minutes from now the polls will be
closed and the results known, and tben we’ll
see.
MR. M.—Yes, then we'll see your political
ambllions vanish, like the dew before the morn
ing sun. Psasst—Bang—All over.
MRS. M.—Well, you have been reading Laura
Jean Llbbey.
MR. M.—Look here, y*>ung lady, I'm not a
plagiarist.
MRS. M.—No, you’re worse, you're a poli
tician.
MR. M.—What are ,’/ou, a saloon keeper?
Why you women, you’ne fighting against your
selves. You're fighting the N tariff on hats, shoes
and silk stockings. Why don’t you let us men
fight that? We buy must af them and then give
them to you.
MRS. M—Yes, thaL's just what we want to
do. We want to pay for our own hats, cur own
shoes, our own diamonds. •
MR. M.—And will} you pay the rent?
MRS. M.—Why oC course I will!
MR M.—Why, llll vote for you myself! 1
suppose you thinkqyuu can do any old thing a
man does?
MRS. M.—Well, you show me one thing a
man can do that n woman can't do.
MR. M.—Do this. (Puts hands in pockets.)
Now all this jesting aside. You don’t really
wish to win against, your husband •
MRS. M.—That has nothing to do with me.
MR. M.—And <why hasn’t it anything to do
with you? *
MRS. M.—Ytou ask me why? You ask a
woman why? I’ll tell yon why. We hare been
told that we rare the weaker sex, haven’t we?
Yet we ha vet to bear the most pain, the most
slander, the most abuse. Are there not In for
eign countries women who haTe ruled and still
rule successfully? If we own property we are
taxed the same as you, yet we are given no
voice in the) affairs of the country. Now is the
tilne for usf to show you that as surely as our
forefathers^ rebelled against taxation without
representation, ao will we have a say, and
we’ll vote.
MR. M.—I’ve got to leave here. I can gee
that. I’mi going home to mother. But before 1
go I’ll sell out. Do you want to buy my desk
for a nickel? You’re all right. Smithy, but tell
me, whene are you going to get all these votes
from?
MRS. M.—I suppose you forgot that all my
former sweethearts are going to vote for me.
MR. M.—And I suppose during these election
times you love your former sweethearts Ju»t te
gel thetr votes?
MRS., M.—Why, certainly.
MR. M.—Now I know why you came home so
late last week. You were out getting votes!
But you women, you don’t know what you
want.
MRS. M.—I tel! you we want land reform,
school reform, domestic reform.
MR. M.—You want chloroform.
MRS. M.—I tell you we are serious in this
matter, and some day a woman will be Speaker
of the House.
MR. M.—Why, a woman has always been
speaker of a house! When a poor man wants
to say anything he goes out In the back yard to
say It
MRS. M.—Well, speakers like you ought to
go out in the back yard to speak. -
MR- M,—What's the matter with my speak
ing?
MRS. M.—Why, I stood down here on the
corner the other day
MIL M.—Look here, now. You've got to keep
off the comers. I’m your husband and won't
stand for
MRS. M.—And I was a Shamed of you as my
o’clock Saturday night. Instead of a club she
has a hat pin In her hand. She walks up to a
crowd of boys standing on the coruer and she
says: ‘Now you get out of here. If you don't
get out of,here I’ll stick you.’ Now, gentlemen,
are you going to stand to be stuck? Do you see
the point?
“Then she walks up to another crowd of boys
standing on the corner and says: ‘Now, look
here, boys. If you don't go home I'll take the
whole crowd to the house with me, and they all
go to the house with her. Why, I’d go myself.
JLA
m
MRS. M.—I tell you we are serious in this matter, and some day a woman will be Speaker of
the House.
MR. M.—Why, a woman has always been speaker of a house! When a poor man wants to say
anything he goes out in the back yard to say it.
husband. Why, you couldn’t put up a decent
argument for your own campaign.
MR. M.—I’ll show you what kind of a speech
I can make. (Jumps on table.) “Friends,
Fellow Citizens, Townsmen and Poor Misguided
Woman; Do you realize that If this candidate
for mayor 1* elected what will happen? We’ll
have a lady fire department, lady letter carriers
and lady policemen, will we not?”
MRS. M.—Why, certainly.
MR. M.—“Can you see a good looking lady
policeman coming down the street about 12
“Lady fire department! Can you see a fire
house, six pretty girls as they He sleeping in six
(jainty little cots. It’s 3 o'clock In the morning
and an alarm comes In for a fire. They've got
to jump out of bed without a moment’s notice to
get dressed. Do you follow me or am I alone?
Then they have to slide down those brassy,
greasy poles. Now you boys keep away from
that firehouse! Then as they are madly dashing
along the street the chief says: ‘Stop. Why
that’s Lizzie Jones’s house that’s burning. 1
hate that hussy. Let the old house burn!’
A Funny Scene from
“TheSuffragette, ”
byFranklynArdell.
as Played by Him
self and Ann Wal
ters.
(Stage Rights Reserved by Mr. Ardell.)
"Lady letter carriers! They don’t need to
carry the letters. Just call them to the window
and whisper the news. Make it strictly contl
dential Why, It’ll travel quicker and farther
than the mail could take It In a month!
"Lady soldiers! Well. It’s true ladles would',
do all right for the infant-ry, but can you lm
agine all the powder they’d use up before they
started In to fight? But that’s not the worst of
It. When they got into the thick of the battle
some rude person on the other side would holler
"Rats,’ and they’d lose the whole war!
"But a poor, kind natured, nice little min |
comes home Saturday night with his little sal
ary in his pocket, and he’s wandering along a
little street, as men sometimes wander, and be
goes Into his house and lies down for a little
necessary sleep, and as he lies there as Innocent
as a lamb, dreaming of the angels, the door
opens and a woman enters with a murderous
Intent and like a thief In the night. She creeps
not toward the sleeping man, but toward his
panta, hanging over a chair, and with one of
her woman's rights she quietly extraots ten,
thirty or twenty-five cents. Now, gentlemen,
I’m speaking from experience. I’ve been
touched, but the question I place before you is
this, that if this candidate for mayor would
take thirty cents out of my pocket when I am
sleeping, how much would she grab out of your
city treasury when you are all sleeping?’’
MRSr M.—Well, many nights when you’ve
come home you haven't had thirty cents left la
your pocket.
MR. M.—How do you know that?
MRS. M—There goes the ticker. Now we’ll
see who wins. Here you are, Election Reports.
District 7—Smith, 3,000; Matthews, 28. Dis
trict 4—Smith, 1,000; Matthews, 17. District
12—Smith, 2,000; Matthews, 9.
MR. M.—Let me see that ticker. And herp
you are. They’re off. Elsie Smith gets a good
start, she’s doing nicely at the best quarter,
now at the half. King Lee by head, Elsie 8m!th
second. Queen Bess third. Now in the stretch,
neck and neck. Elsie Smith she wins by a head.
Why that’s a horse race. Who put that In
there? Here you are now, final report from
headquarters. Ned Matthews wins by a ma
jority of 3,000. Smithy, go hack to the kitchen.
Mickey and the.
Golden Rule
1918. by tfcn Star OMarpftnr Oiwat Britain Rifbta Referred.
r ACHER told us oncet at school
To observe de Golden Rule —
“Do to others as we’d have ’em do to us;”
But I wants to tell y’u, see! %
No such rule don’t go wil’ me.
Any time I’m done dere’s goin’ to be a fuss.
I wants to say right here,
I licked fifty kids dis year;
An', fudermore, no gink kin bully me.
While I ain't a pickin’ fights
I stands up fur all de rights
Our fathers' fathers’ won in history.
Dat rule may be alright
Fer a gink dat’s scared to fight.
But I’m a scrapper, wid a nawful punch;
An', if I should wait to see
Wot some guys'd do to me.
I'd lose me reputation wid de bunch.
Teacher can’t make it go down
Out in dis end of de town.
“De gink dat smiteth my cheek.” like she said.
Ain’t goin’ to be no “brother,"
Ner have me “toin de other."
Not me! I’m goin’ to punch his bloomin’ head.
Youze have heard about de way
I put Tony Schmidt away.
Everybody talks about dat scrap.
He was twicet as big as me.
Weighed a hundred ftfty-t'ree—
Chee! I pushed dat heavy-weight clean off de map.
Wot dat guy “did unto me”
Wasn’t “as I'd have him,” see!
An' dat’s where teacher’s wrong. De rule is nix.
He called me “bones" art’ “skinny"
Cause I tripped him. playin’ shinny.
I couldn't stand for dat. We had to mix.
De trouble is. no guy
Is willin' fer to try
To Mart de rule a woikin’, cause de re*’
o:i’t follow, an' come t’rough.
c.ike de .ale says dey should do.
Dare s always someone want* to get dc oesL
THE SENSE
OF HUMOR
Copyright. 1S1*. by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved.
T HE Newspaper Humorist was very busy trying to fit a laugh to the
latest Item of news when his door opened and In breezed an In
dividual of girth, baldness arid apparent Jollity. ,
"Name’s Mc.Fee,” said the stranger. “Ought to be a funny man with
such a funny name. Think 1 am, too; that’s why I’m here. I want to
hear if you think my stuff’s worth getting into print."
The N. H. held up a hand In protest. “I don't pay for befip; have a
hard enough time getting money for myself.”
McFee laughed. "Don't want your money; just your opinion. F’r-
lnstance, In Boston now the rooters are called garters instead of fans.
That’s not so, of course, but I’m telling a Joke. They’re called garters
because they support the Red Sox."
The N. H. groaned.
"You think,” continued the visitor, "I’m like the tattooed man—have
designs on myself, eh?"
"Not quite, but—don't you know that to be a successful humorist you
must have plenty of talent, outside talent, friends who are funny and who
are willing to relinquish their goods to you?”
”Oh, I have. There's one fellow I know who’s funny without know
ing It. Went to a doctor the other day because he always awoke with a
headache. Doctor told him to take a pickle just before going to bed. If
he could keep It on his stomach he’d wake up feeling fine. My friend
tried It, but said the pickle insisted on rolling off his stomach just as
soon as he fell Into a doze. Good yarn, eh?”
Again the N. H. groaned.
"But.” said McFee, "I've got a keen sense of humor myself. Was
chewing a clove the other evening when It dawned on me—fairly took
my breath away—that I didn’t like ’em.”
"What's the Joke?" asked the N. H.
"Clove—took my breath away.”
"Some men are born humorists," paraphrased the enfeebled N. H.,
"some men read humor, and others have humor thrust on them. Every
man thinks he's a humorist—that's why there are so few."
"Don’t you find It easy to write jokes?” thundered McFee.
"Very; but not to think of them. That Is harder to do than to shave
j the back of the neck or to talk sassy to the wife.”
"But you make easy money.”
"Eaay money, my friend. Is the money that goes easy, the only kind
I know. There are many ways of committing suicide, and confining one’s
self to the field of humor Is one.”
McFee was Interested. "How’s that?"
"Well, those contemplating suicide have only to sit down, write
jokes, send them to the editors, and—starve to death.”
"Then you'd advise against my entering the game?"
“Most assuredly. Just forget the jokes you have, and—well, if It’s
s good one I’ll smoke it: if It isn’t. I’ll give It away. Thank you. Good
day."
McFee closed the door, after promising not to write humor. Then
the N. H. banged out the jokes of McFee on the typewriter, put them In
an office envelope, used some office stamps, called the office boy, and had
he stuff mailed. And did he sell the jokes?
He did'
Just for Fun
Copyright, 1913 by the Star Company.Great Britain Rights Reserved.
Unlucky Hans
A WAITER in a certain cafe has forsworn nightshirts for pajamas,
and thereby hangs a tale.
This waiter, Hans by name, was for a long while accustomed
to come home at night with his pockets full of sliver, his "tips” for the
day, and his wife, when he had fallen asleep, would raid the silver supply.
Hans, of course, was quite aware of this unkind proceeding on his wife’s
part, but he said nothing as he racked his Teutonic brains for a scheme
that would put an end to this sort of thing.
One night he waited until his spouse had sunk in slumber. Then he
got up, took all the silver from his pockets, crept silently hack to bed
and tied all the money In a corner of his nightshirt. He congratulated
himself on his cleverness, figuring that he had devised a means to stop
the raids.
His surprise the next morning may, therefore, be imagined, when
his wife addressed him thus:
"Thank you so much, Hans, for
the present.”
"What present?”
"Why all that money tied in my
nightie.”
Historic Girls.
T" HE Queen of Sheba was a
i maid
Of pronounced views, and yet
No history ever said that She-
Ba was a Suffragette.
Crushed.
TV 1 HEN Mr*. Hifelire divorced her first husband
** Another man took her to wife;
She told him, ere long, that the first was a modal,
And yet there was no sign of strife;
But shortly the second stayed out until morning,
Came home with no sign of remorse;
He said, when she scolded, “I’ve been with the party
From whom you obtained a divorce.'*
Goose Talk.
Joshing the Diplomatist.
T HERE Is a certain youth attached to one of the foreign missions at
Washington whose habit It is, shortly after Introduction to some
fair lady, immediately to turn,the conversation Into channels favorable
for the discussion of the tender passion.
“I observe,” said he, on one occasion, when he had Just been presented
to a charming young woman, "that you wear a most attractive locket.
Tell me, does It contain the token of some past affair of the heart?”
"Yes,” smiled the lady, who had been warned of the diplomatist's
weakness, and who thought to have a bit of fun with him. "It does con
tain a love token—a lock of my husband’s hair.”
"A widow!” exclaimed the susceptible foreigner, as he edged closer.
“Why, some one told me your husband was alive.” .
"He is,” answered the young woman, "but his hair Is gone.”
HE—Qearest, I dreamed last
night that you were dead and that
I saw your ghost.
SHE—Oh, John, was it a fash
ionable shade?
Misunderstood.
F AT OLD LADY—Could I get a
seat near the stage, please.
Box Office—Why certainly, what
row do you want?
Fat Old Lady—Don’t get fresh,
young man.
Unwritten Law.
u \ LWAYS wears pretty low cut dresses, doesn’t she?”
/\ "Yes, seems, to think self-revelation Is the first law of nature.”
T HE late King Edward was noted for h1s marvelous memory for feces
and he rarely forgot a name.
One day he was taking a stroll In the park, accompanied by an equerry
A tall, well dressed man, in passing, gravely bowed. As he hold hta stll
hat level with his knee he stepped to one side to allow the King to pass
“Good morning. Your Majesty,” he ventured.
The genial King halted and looked at him a moment, apparently -at i
loss to put a name to him.
“I seem to know your face, sir, but I regret, yonr name has escape!
me.”
"Oh! I made your breeches, Your Majesty” the court tailor'humbl;
answered.
The King smiled and held out his hand.
"Ah, yes. Good morning, Major Breeches.*
N
At the Boarding House.
EW COOK (anxiously)—There are fourteen more to be served Ma’am
and we’ve nothing but dirty dishes.
Landlady—Hey, George, get the gravyl
Budding.
O HE used to wear a high-necked dress.
The proper thing, no doubt;
But now her dress is decolette,—
She’s slowly coming out.
- - •
Caustic Criticism.
J IMMY De MUTT—Say, Billie, ye’d oughter read the Evening Howler.
It’s de best paper on the island.
Bowery Billie—Aw, say, wotchu givin' me? Wot tell do you know
about literachur?
jN some places meat and drink haa given way to meet and drfnlc -»
’T’HE Sunday school’ teacher had discoursed long and eloquently opt
1 the wonders of heaven, the glories of the tropical foliage In tl
gardens, and the angels with their beautiful white wings walking np at
down the marble steps. ‘
"Now, I want one of you little girls to ask a question about the Heavt
which I have described to you,” he concluded.
There was a long pause. Finally after a lot of coaxing, a little gi
rose from her seat and asked:
"Please sir, if the angels have wings, why do they walk up and dow
the steps?”
The teacher was considerably taken aback. In sheer desperation t
turned to the boys of the class and invited them to answer the questioi
Presently a small boy stood up with a grin on his face.
"I know, teacher.” ^
"Well, my little man. Speak out -so the class can hear you,"
"I guess they was moltin’,” came the instant reply.
p)LAYS with short runs give the players long walk*.