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HEARST’S SUNDAY AMERICAN, AT1.ANTA, GA., SUNDAY, JUNE 1, 1913.
A Funny Story of an Eloquent Roll of Bills
J OHN HARRINGTON starts out with $3,0 00 in his pocket to pay for a bungalow he has
Just bought, but winds up at the race track. He loses the money and an additional
$100, which he raises on his wife's necklace. An old friend, Bruce Ascot, a rich owner
of race horses, finds him, after three days' absence, afraid to face his wife, and takes him
home. Leaving Harrington outside, he goes Into the house and finds Cherie Berman,
friend of Mrs. Harrington.
A SCOT—How do you do? I am Bruce
Ascot
CHERIE—Bruce Ascot? Connected
with the race track, no doubt.
ASCOT—There's no doubt about It; It’s a
cinch. I used to be a ball player; then I switch-
ed and bought a stable of horses. Now I’m
about six blocks up Easy Street and wulklng
fast.
CHERIE—Where do yon go from there?
ASCOT—Say, every time I think of that bun.
die of bills I have got In the bank I feel so
good I want to run over to Philadelphia and
laugh at the Mint
CHERIE—Pardon me, lait didn’t you send
this telegram here a while ago?
A SOOT—I sent a telegram to your husband
Thursday.
CHERFE—Not my husband—my friend's hus
band. I’m not married.
ASCOT (tipping hat)—How do you do?
CHERIE—Are you married?
ASCOT—No, Pm still living a la carte. So
you’re not married, oh?
CHERIE—No, I have never been properly
approached.
ASCOT—Say, ask me again to alt down; I
want to talk to you a minute.
CHERIB—Won’t you sit down, and won’t you
take off your hat?
ASCOT—No, I always keep my hat on In
ease of Are.
CHERIE—Tell me, wae your business with
Mr. Harrington particular?
ASCOTT—Well, It Is more particular for Har
rington than tt la for me.
CHERIE—You eee, John hasn’t been home
for three days—he and his write had a quarrel.
ASOOT—They did? What did they quarrel
about?
CHERIE—She thought that the dining-room
carpet should be dark green and he Insisted 1t
should be dark red.
ASCOT—80 John goes out and gets a dark
brown taste In his mouth? The last time I
saw him he was leading a throe-days' Jag
around by the hand and talking to It like a
child.
CHERIE—Where was he?
ASCOT—Confidentially, he wss down to the
race track.
CHERIE—His wife must never know he has
been to the races!
ASCOT—Don't you want me to tell her?
CHERIE—Not for the world.
ASCOT—Well, then, as far as that episode Is
concerned I have lost my voice.
CHERIE—Why didn't you send him home?
ASCOT—Well, I did—I tried to. I turned
him around and pointed him 1n the direction
of home and tried to shove him away, but he
wouldn't go. Then he put his hand In his pocket
and pulled out this "Neck Warmer."
CHERIE—Jane’s locket, with my picture
tn tt!
ASCOT—Is that your picture?
OI1KRIB—How did you come by that?
ASCOT—I’ll tell you. John came to me down
to the track day before yesterday and said he
had lost a lot of money on the races.
CHERIE—Three thousand dollars.
AflCOT—Three thousand dollars? What was
be doing with three thousand dollars In his
pocket?
CHERIE-r-He bought a bungalow and was
going to pay for It to-day.
ASCOT—Now, what do you think of that!
Anyway, he opened his pocketbook to prove It,
and I saw that locket there, so I slipped him a
hundred and put the locket and pocketbook In
my pocket.
CHERIE—Did he bet the $100?
ASCOT—Yes, he bet on a horse called Misfit.
Misfit couldn’t win from a street roller. Misfit
originally belonged to a tailor, and that Is why,
coming down the hsunestrstoh, he crossed his
hind legs and sat down on the track. (Hiuiness
of searing.)
CHERIE—I’ll tell yon what to do. You give
me that locket and take this $100 he borrowed.
ASCOT—No, I can get It from John.
CHERIE—This 1s John's money.
AflCOT—I don’t believe It.
CHERIE—He gave me this money to buy his
wife a hat In Paris.
ASCOT—Say! I’ve got an awful good thing
Billings Builds a Bungalow (Almost)
Copyright.. 1018, bj th» Star GamjMuiw Great Britain Righto n*»«rred.
The Third Attack—THE TEMPORARY ROOF,
"Are you hurt?" she
B ILLINGS had worked hard on his bungalow
upon the hill. This was because Mrs. Bill
ings declared he could not. build one.
To be sure, he started his foundation In a bog
and lost the foundation stones and had to take Ills
wife's advice and build It on a knoll. He also
started to build two chimneys for adjoining rooms,
until his wife discovered It, and he forgot to put In
a front door. He also neglected window sashes,
nailing the windows In, but with these trifling mis
takes rectified (he called them trifling) ho was bound
to build that bungalow or bust, as be so euphoniously
put it.
This day he had the roof on. when his wife came
S to the building.
It did look rather attractive, wttn the red tiles.
He bad changed his mind about a green roof and
was covered tt with red tiles.
ried "Isn’t that simply great7" he asked Mrs. Billings,
waring his arms eloquently.
1 ca "H’mm," replied his wife, looking It over crftl-
fact.eally.
mig "Now, look-a-here, Grace, If you can't say any
thing except 'H’mm,' why don't come down here at
lor all. Tell me, what’s the matter with that roof?”
wif "Why—er—Horace, It does look pretty good, ex-
lig cept that Lgly old line of hoards along the eaves."
"Oh, Is that’all!” he snorted, in disgust. "Well,
k. let me tell you, those boards are not permanent
When I told you I was building a temporary roof, I
[ expected to do different, bnt I have decided to make
It permanent, and those old boards bear the same
relation to that roof that —er—that basting threads
bear to a drees. I had to put them in there to start
tt Now, to prove It, I will yank them off," and
Bllflngs ran up the ladder, grasped a hammer and
v
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egan pounding at the boards.
"Don’t do that, Horace!” commanded Mrs. BU-
ngs.
Billings paused, looked at her pityingly, grinned
1 resumed his hammering.
But Horace, if you do. you will ”
Now. look here, Grace, what do you know about
h work? Those boards were only guides,
:d "
‘‘But Horace, If you take those boards off ”
“Ho, ho!” laughed Billings, waving his arms to
pace her. Then he resumed his hammering.
Mrs. Billings was evidently disgusted, but she
urried back quite a distance from the bungalow,
.: t down and waited.
She did not have to wait so very’ long, for the
iards came off with a snap. And at the same
.slant, every tile on that side of the roof slid off
ith a rush, taking the ladder and Billings with
.hem.
When Billings picked himself up out of the dust
and debris of shattered tiles, his wife was at his
side, * t A’ l'.
asked.
“No, 1 am not hurt, but ” and here followed
a line of talk that only a mule driver could guess
at.
’’And I don't see anything funny, either,"
snapped Billings, looking at his wife, who was
laughing uproariously.
“Here's all my work gone, about $20 worth of
tiles ruined and my life in Jeopardy; Just why you
should laugh ”
“Now, Horace,” chided Mrs. Billings, when she
could get her breath, "don’t get peevish, I tried to
tell you ”
"Tell me what?" asked Billings, with sickening
suspicion.
"Why, I tried to tell you that it looked to me as
though you had not secured your tiles, but were
letting them all rest against those boards, and It
looked to me also as though they would do Just
what they did If you removed the boards and "
“Well, there’s no use standing there and Jawing
about a little mistake like that. Mistakes are apt
to happen. Why, even the best of carpenters
make mistakes now and then. Don’t you worry. I’ll
have this bungalow done in another week."
Mrs. Billings stepped cautiously inside the half
completed bungalow.
She tested the walls, and as they were pretty
shaky, she hastily stepped out again.
"Oh, don’t be alarmed; It won’t fall down on
you ” began Billings.
"You are a good mind reader,” she replied. "I
was afraid of just that. It seems so shaky ’’
“They all do until they are completed. When I
get the inside sheathing up it will be as solid as a
atone wall," explained Billings.
"I think," he added, "that tiles
are too heavy for a root. I will
use large shingles and stain them
green, as I first planned.”
i h “But the roof doesn’t seem very
(Strong, Horace," Mrs. Billings com
plained, “and as long as you said
this was to be permanent roof, I
thought ’’
“Well, It will be strong enough
when it Is done. Say, you are the
finest kill-joy I ever saw. I didn’t
Invite you out here to criticise me
and laught at me. I asked you out
to give me a word of praise now and then, and "
"Look out!” shouted Mrs. Billings, running
away from the building.
Billings looked at her In amazement for a
second, then the wind, which had been blowing half
a gale, freshened up a bit and, getting inside the
bungalow, lifted the roof clear and dropped it
twenty feet away.
The tiles on the other side dotted the landscape
"Well ”
Mrs. Billings put her hand tenderly over her
husband's mouth.
"Don’t say It, Hoddy, dear. IT you say such
things the place will be struck by lightning, too.”
“I’ll build this dashed-binged bungalow If It
takes me ninety-eight million years,” yelled Billings.
"You come out next week and I’ll have it painted
and the furniture in; this was only a trifling little
accident ■"
“Oh. sure,” laughed Mrs Billings. "Just a trifling
accident, and besides, your first Idea was to build a
temporary roof.” And then to soothe him she prom
ised to come out next week. .... , r -
In the third race this P. M. That pony will
go to the post at 30 to 1, and that will get you
$3,000. I know, because I own the pony. It's a
cinch.
CHERIE—I don’t believe In cinches, and I
don’t want to change the subject, but would
you do me a favor?
ASCOT—I believe I would.
CHERIE—You mURt have gome Idea where
John la.
ASCOT—-Sure, I know where he Is. I have
got him hid under the sidewalk outside. You
see, my business here is to square John with
the wife for being gone three days. You hang
around here and I will have John home tn two
minutes.
CHERIB)—Do hurry.
ASCOT—You bet I will hurry, because Pve
got to go uptown to the horse show to-night
OHERIE—la there a horse show in town?
A8C0T—Bure, and It’s a peach. I have got a
few ponies up there looking for blue ribbons,
and I want to go up and help them find them.
OHERIE—Oh! I Just love the horae show.
ASCOT—You do? Come here a minute. Do
you want to go up to the horse show with me?
CHERIB—With you?
ASCOT—Sure; I'm a good fellow.
CHERIB—You send John home and Til think
It over.
ASCOT—All right. Yon ask John; he’ll give
me a recommendation. I’ll go home now and put
on my soup and fish.
CHERIE)—Your soup and fish!
ASCOT—Yes, my decollete—low neck with
the spark—the strlpea on the pants, the tlug-a-
llng hat and white mittens.
OHERIE—One moment; first, you give me
that locket and you take tbia money.
ASOOT—No, you can have the locket, but you
don’t let the wife see It. Slip It somewhere.
(Be goes out and send* John in.)
OHERIE—John Harrington!
JOHN H.—Hello, Cherie, when did you gel
back from Parts?
CHERIB)—I arrived this morning.
JOHN H.—Did you have a nloe trip?
OHEIRIE—Fine. 1 understand you have been
on a little trip, too.
JOHN H.—Don’t mention It.
CHERIB)—Wherever you went you didn’t go
by water.
JOHN—That’s right, hand It to me; I deserve
It. I should have never taken that first drink.
Liquor always goes to my head.
CHERIE—There is more room for It
there than any other place.
JOHN—Did Jane tell you? How 1b
she? '
CHERIE—She has nervous prostration,
emotional insanity and Ingrowing eye
brows.
JOHN—Where Is she?
CHERIE)—In her room. Stop! I don’t
want you to see her until I smooth
everything out. You go into your room
and I will send her to you.
JOHN—How am I going to let her know
about the money?
CHERIE—What money?
JOHN—She knew I had $3,000 to pay
on the bungalow we just bought.
CHERIE)—Have you lost that?
JOHN—Well, I don’t know. This morn
ing when I awoke In the Turkish bath
I looked for the money, but It was
gone. ,
CHERIE)—Peace and joy! By the way,
what were you doing with Jane’s locket?
JOHN I took It to have & chain put
on It
CHERIE—You got In the wrong street. In
stead of the chain you got $100 on it
JOHN—By the way, Bruce Ascot told me to
give you these. (dives her a bunch of violets.)
CHERIE—Bruce Ascot! Wasn’t that thought
ful of him? What kind of a man is he?
JOHN—He Is the best ever.
CHERIB—He looks good to me. I think I’ll
tell him the stery ef my past life.
JOHN—What do you mean?
CHERIE—It may Interest him to know that
I was left an orphan and didn’t know what to
do with It. John, take these flowers and give
them to Jane as a peace offering.
(Be goes to his room and Ascot returns.)
ASCOT—How do I look?
CHERIE!—You leok lovely.
An Amusing Scene from
“CHERIE” as Played by
CLAYTON WHITE and
GEORGIA CAINE
Copyright, 1933, by tn# filar rompanj.
Righto Reserved.
Great Britain
ASCOT—You don't want her to know he has
been to the races, do you?
CHERIE—Not tor the world. Here is the
locket, and John is over there in his room.
“Say, every time I think of that bundle of bills I have got in the bank I feel so good
I want to run over to Philadelphia and laugh at the MiHt.”
ASCOT—I look Just the same on the other
side I believe.
CHERIE (pointing to low-cut vest)—Aren’t
you afraid you’ll catch cold?
ASCOT—No, I’ve got my sweater on under
neath. Notice the lid? (Closes opera hat and
lets it snap out again.) That don’t hurt it a bit
That's going to get away from me some time.
Notice the lining—it matches the mittens? Did
you get the hollyhocks?
CHERIE—The hollyhocks?
ASCOT—Yes, the night blooming pizzazzns.
CHERIE—You mean the violets?
ASCOT—Were they violets?
CHERIE—Yes, they were violets.
ASCOT—Then they were violets. I sent them
to you.
CHERIE—It was very kind of you.
ASCOT—Cost me $1.25.
CHERIE—Are you going to send me violets
every day?
AS)COT—Every day? No; I’ll buy you a box
of seeds and let you raise them yourself.
CHERIB)—Be serious. Tell me, why don’t
you want John's wife to see him?
ASCOT—That Is a little business proposition
between John and myself.
CHERIE)—Business? Oh, I know 7 . You don’t
want him to see her until you return this
loeket.
ASCOT—Well, I’ll slip It In his Inside pocket!
I forgoj to tell you. I won a little money on the
races since 1 saw you last.
CHERIE—Good!
ASCOT—You see. there is a bookmaker down
to the track by the name of Rosenbaum. He is
an Italian. You don’t know him, do you? Well,
I've got It in for him, and w'hile I was getting
my money down I ran across that one hundred
lollar bill you gave me. I took a chance
and got him $3,000. •
CHERIE—$3,000!
ASCOT (takes out roll)—Yes, speak to it; It’s
talking to you.
CHERIE—What’ll he do with all this money?
ASCOT—What'll he do w-ith it? I don’t know.
He can tear it up if he wants to, but don’t let it
go back to Rosenbaum.
CHERIE—I know; he "can pay for the bunga
low. And she'll never know of his loss. You
take this money with the locket and give them
both to John.
ASCOT-—I will slip It in his inside pocket.
CHERIE—Say! You say you won this money
on the races?
ASCOT—Yes, madam.
CHERIE—But It is 8 o'clAi-k at night, ana
the races are over hours ago.
ASCOT—I know, but these are night races. I
followed them around with a lantern.
Further Adventures of Harold Handover
By WILLIAM F. KIRK
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Copyright, 1013, by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved.
T was time for the bail game, and the largest erowd that had ever as
sembled at the grounds was on hand to welcome back to Atlanta the
man whose name was now on every tongue in baseballdom.
”1 hear Smith is paying him more than any pitcher in the game." re
marked a large fan with watery eyes and no expression whatever.
“He gets more than President Wilson.” asserted another intelligent
rooter. “Twice as much. 1 heerd. 1 wonder if he blows it all. I had a
uncle once that came all the way South from Denver with two hundred
thousand dollars, and blew it all in a month."
“There he comes now!” exclaimed everybody.
And then from the multitude there arose a shout such as must have
welcomed Scipio back to Rome. Base yells, shrill cheers, soprano yelps
and every other form of baseball clamor imaginable greeted the won
drous twirler from Oshkosh.
Harold Hangover was in his glory. Stepping high, like a horse with
the springhalt, and sniffing the afternoon breeze, the breeze that he had
sniffed so often in other glorious days, our hero looked every inch a pic
ture and a comic one, at that. Bowing to right and left until his large,
intellectual ears flapped like sails before a fitful breeze, he made his way
slowly toward the players’ bench.
Harold Hangover, now 7 for the first time in his life, felt hot tears
welling through his freckled eyelids. His father hail always been that
way. Harold reflected, though his father was a butcher, and to butchers
sentiment is often a thing unknown, and yet Harold Hangover felt a
flush of shame mantling his corrugated cheeks as the tears splashed
earthward, The knowledge that many great men had their weak mo
ments served at last as a sort of tonic, however, and throwing off his
sweater our hero began warming up in front of the historic stand where
so many stars have taken the kinks out of their arms.
"Ain't he handsome?’’ exclaimed a dainty college miss who sat with
her gloomy escort.
"He’s too tall.” replied the envious w 7 rap carrier. “When a man
gets much over six feet he loses that natural grace w r bieh marks a real
athlete.”
“But you’re only four feet six.” said the girl. "You ain’t tall enough
to have any natural grace. I think he is just superb! Oh. look at his
fine features! What is his name?”
"His name is Harold Hangover." answered her sawed-off escort, “and
I don’t see why people make such a fuss over him. You better take a
good long look at him hefore he goes back to the minors,” he added
savagely.
It was now nearly time for the game, and after the photographers
SMILES
Terrible Malady.
Tommy’s Aunt—Won’t you have
another piece of cake, Tommy?
Tommy (on a visit)—No, I thank
you.
Tommy’s Aunt—You seem to be
suffering from loss of appetite.
Tommy—That ain’t loss of appe
tite. What I’m suffering from is
politeness.
Worth of an Antique.
An old lady was searching in the
dim bric-a-brac shop for something
odd to take home with her. Finally
she noticed a quaint figure, the head
and shoulders of which appeared
above the counter at the farthest end
of the room. She turned to the clerk
and said: “What’s that queer old
Japanese idol over there worth?”
The clerk answered in a subdued
tone; “About fifty thousand dollars,
ma’am. That’s the proprietor.”
Sure Enough.
Will telephone users please not fire
off this little joke on the poor tele
phone girls any more? They tell us
plaintively that they are tired of it.
A subscriber asks for a number,
and after a suitable interval the ex
change calls politely—politely mind
you; “Number engaged." The sub
scriber tries again.
Again comes the autocratic voice
from the exchange: “Still engaged.”
“Still engaged, is he?” retorts the
exasperated subscriber. “Then it’s
high time he was married!”
A Friendly Request.
He was subject to fainting spells,
and before starting out he wrote this
note, which he pinned to his shirt:
“To the Doctor: If I fall on the
street and am taken to the hospital
do not operate. My appendix has
been removed twice already."
had snapped our hero in various poses and caught him in the act of shak
ing hands with the Mayor, the umpire removed his cap and bellowed:
“Batteries for to-day’s game Hangover and Dunn for Atlanta; fpr
Nashville, Beck and Gibson.”
The game began.
****** *
For the first time in his life, Harold Hangover became afflicted with
the peculiar malady known as stage fright. Stage fright is sometimes
experienced by baseball players,, but In most eases it afflicts actors, who
get violent attacks of it when they imagine that the manager has run
away with the box office receipts while they are on the stage. In this
case it was a ball player who had the stage fright, and the ball player
was none other than our own hero.
“He’s quitting!” exclaimed a rooter in the leftfield bleachers.
“Is there a doctor In the stand?” shouted another fanatic.
“(let together, Harold, get together!” urged his admiring but anxious
teammates. Bui not until the bases were full in that gruesome first
inning, the result of three bases on balls, did Harold Hangover stiffen
up and assert his wonderful courage. Rather, his wonderful courage
asserted Itself, for Harold Hangover did not know the meaning of the
word fear, and was ever at his best when the skies threatened. Using
his assortment of bewildering deliveries to the lies! advantage, he re
tired the next three men on nine pitched balls, and walked to the players’
bench while the stands were vibrating with cheers.
“You’re the same old minute man, I see,” remarked Smith, gazing
fondly and admiringly at his prodigy. “What was the matter with you
when you started off? I never saw you with nerves before.”
Harold Hangover fidgeted for a moment before making reply.
“Bill,” he asked finally, “what does ‘superb’ mean?”
“Why?” asked Smith, cautiously.
“There was a swell dame up in the stand who said T was superb,”
answered Harold Hangover. “Is that a knock or a boost?”
With memories of other swell dames and other tall pitchers coming
instantly to his mind. Smith looked our hero squarely in the eyes and
said. "The lady was knocking you. I wouldn’t mind her calling one of
my players cowardly or homely or stupid, but she must certainly hate
you if she ealled you ‘superb.’ Never mind the girls in the stands,
Harold. We want to get the flag this year, and I need you. I need every
bit of your skill and attention to business. Girls in the stands don’t win
pennants.”
Stung into a condition of dumb yet deep hatred for the girl who had
smiled on him only to call him “superb,” Harold Hangover went to work
in earnest. Not another Vol. rached first base during their eight in
nings at bat.
"I wish I knew what ’superb’ meant and why she called me such a
name," mused the great hero as he walked slowly homeward from the
club house that night. “I wonder if they would put it in the dictionary.”
(This will be continued next Sunday.)
Now, How Did He Know?
Tfie talk had drifted to the weight
of persons when Mr. Sappleigh ob
served : “Appearances are often de
ceptive. Now Miss May, here, is
heavier than you would think.”
In the moment of silence which fol
lowed this remark the young lady’s
brother asked: “How do you know,
Mr. Sappleigh?”
There’s a Reason.
The curate of a large and fashion
able church was endeavoring to teach
the significance of white to a Sunday
school class.
“Why,” said he. “does a bride in
variably desire to be clothed in white
at her marriage?”
As no one answered, he explained.
“White,” he said, “stands for joy,
and the wedding day Is the most joy
ous occasion of a woman’s life.”
A small boy queried, “Why do the
men all wear black?”
Had ’Em All.
Wife—What are some of the re
quirements necessary to make a suc
cessful poker player, my dear?
Husband (thoughtfully)—Well, a
man must be cool, calculating! crafty,
deceitful, selfish, sly, and have a
touch of meanness In his disposition.
Wife (shocked)—I should think
you would not care to play with such
people.
Husband—Oh, I almost always
win!
She Couldn’t Then.
A small boy had been naughty as
the day drew to its close. Said
mother: “Oh, Willie, you’ve been
such a good boy all day, don’t dis
appoint me now!”
Time went on. and Willie got more
naughty still. Said he to his mother,
when at length she promised him a
severe punishment;
“Oh. you’ve been such a good
mother all de.v, don’t disappoint me
now!”
Tables Turned.
A certain American general who
shall be nameless, was in company
where there were some few Scotch
visitors. After supper, when the wiue
was served up, the general rose and
addressed the company in the follow
ing words:
“Gentlemen. I must iuform you that
wheu I have taken too much I have
an absurd custom of railing against
the Scotch. I hope no gentleman in
the company will mind.”
Up starts Mr. , a Scotch officer,
and, without seeming the least dis
pleased, said;
“Gentlemen, I—when I am in the
same condition and—and hear any
person railing against the Scotch-
have an absurd custom of kicking
him out of the company. I hope no
gentleman will mind.”
One on Her.
“The giraffe has a tongue eighteen
inches long,” said Mrs. Talkmore.
“And knows how to hold it, too,”
growled Mr. T.. who had had a long-
eurtain lecture the night before.
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