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2 CL 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*.