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BEST HUMOR, MOV1NO
PICTURES, VAUDEVILLE.
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Do Husbands of Atlanta
Need a Training School?
I X London, say dispatches, they have started a school for the
training of model husbands. Evenness of temper is the first
thing taught. The prospectus of the school says that is the
most important. What would you do, it asks, if you came home
tardy to dinner and found a wife angry over the spoiled meal?
What would you do if you came home, wanting dinner in a
hurry, and found it not ready?
What do you dQ, Mr. Atlanta?
Here is a very true story, which shows what really hap
pens. How about a training school for husbands in Atlanta?
n, m *
The transom over the door of the apartment across the
hall was open. By odd chance, so also was the transom over our
door flung wide.
This is not often done in the very best of the Peachtree
apartment houses, such as ours is, be it said with all due mod
esty. (The rent we pay gives us the right to mention that.)
But this was the first warm night of the season; hence the
unwonted freedom of the transoms.
And this is what floated to our ears, as we sat abashed but
interested by the open window and looked out at the blank wall
of a neighbor’s odorous garage.
We heard the door of the other apartment open softly,
and close as softly. Then came the woman’s voice.
"Well?” it said. Polar coldness, savage menace, cyni
cism—all were implied in that tone.
The man laughed. It was not the most jubilant chuckle
in the world. It was toneless and pathetic, and pale.
“I’m a little late,” he announced, with the regretfully
apologetic air of a physician diagnosing a case of mumps.
Again the coldness, the menace, the cynicism; this time
mingled with sarcasm.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Just a small matter of an hour and
thirty-five minutes. Don’t mind me. It was no trouble at all
for me to keep your dinner warm. Now, don’t try to kiss me.”
“Darling,” he wailed, “why did you go to that trouble?”
Oh, the saccharine sorrow in that tone of his.
“I didn’t,” she said.
“Oh,” he said, a little flatly.
“No, not after the first half-hour. Of course it doesn’t
make any difference to you that the cook's gone now. But it
does to me.” (Crescendo.)
“Now, dear, don’t. You know I have been crazy to get
ATLANTA, GA„ SUNDAY, JUNE 1, 1913.
READ
The Scarlet Plague
By Jack London
It Starts To-day in the Magazine cf
HEARSTS SUNDAY
AMERICAN
Jeff Might Have Known Better Than Suggest It
Copyright, 1913, by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved.
By “Bud” Fisher
Mutt and Jeff Every Day in The Georgian.
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day to get here when I did.”
“Know!” she snorted. “All 1 know is that's what you
say. All I know is that I’m the goat of this house. All I know
is that I get as much consideration as a dog. All I know is
that your supper’s cold.” (More crescendo.)
“Well, honey,” he urged, soothingly. “That’s all right.
1 ’m not hungry a bit. All I want to do is to smoke. Do you
mind?”
“Mind? Who? Me? Oh, no, I don't mind. Don’t think
about me. You men seem to do as you please,-anyhow, you
and your Ad Men’s Club.”
A little hit of defiance crept into his tone, just a wee bit.
It was the beginning of the end.
“Anyhow,” he said, “1 was at a committee meeting this
evening.”
“Committee meeting! Yes. Well, what did you do?
Nothing, I guess. You generally do. If we women could just
vote and run things 'awhile. ”
“Yes, if you could vote! Then I guess there’d be no sup
per at all, and no home to come to and get bawled out. Well,
maybe that would be the best tiling.”
“I’ll have you know that home is just what you men
make it. If you want to stay out all night, who’s fault is it?
If you want to keep supper waiting, who’s fault is it? Home!
Why, 1 men are responsible for every ruined home.” (For
tissimo.)
“Is that so? How about the wives who snort around and
make a man think his home is a mad house?”
“And how about the man who will bat around, and keep
his wife holding her hands over a cold dinner while he’s
drinking at some old club?”
“Why, darn it, I toll you ”
“There you go, swearing at me. And I guess you think
Don’t mind me; I can go over to Mrs. Smith’s for the evening.”
I’m going to keep sweet-tempered and amiable and 'oh-yes-do-
as-you-like-John’ with a man who’s all the time using pro
fane language. You don’t want a wife, you want an angel.
You ”
He had caught her scornful laugh by this time.
“GOOD NIGHT!” he said. “ You sweet-tempered! You
amiable!”
And again :
“Good night!”
The end was coining. Her voice trembled.
“Well, if you don’t like things around here, you can just
go back downtown to your club and your booze. After I’ve
been slaving my hands to the bone all day, to get this from
you! Well, go on. 1 guess men just can’t help being selfish.
“Well, I’ll go, then. I reckon I’ll find somebody who can
use these tickets to the show.”
“Show? What tickets?”
“The Forsyth to-night. I thought I’d get a couple of
tickets for us, but 1 wasn’t looking for all this.
“Well, John, who’s fault is it?” (Moderato.)
She had called his name.
He was aggressive.
“Who’s fault?” he said, surprisedly. “Well, say! For
the love of Mike!”
“Well, dear, what can you expect, after I’ve gone and
fixed you a nice dinner, and then have it get cold and spoiled?
If you had telephoned now—you will, next time, won’t you?”
His laugh was relieved.
“Well, if that’s all the trouble ”
Kiss.
“Say, houey,” he said. . “I’m hungry as a wolf. Ain’t
there something to eat around the house?”
“Well. There’s the Sunday American over ♦here. Sit
down and read while 1 fix you something. You'll haw to
hurry, though', if we’re going to the show.”
home to you the last two hours. But that Chamber of Com
merce committee ”
Scornful laugh from her.
"Yes, yes, go on,” she said. “The last time it was the
Ad Men’s Club meeting. Well, let’s hear this new one.”
A«aiu that lugubrious laugh from him.
"Now, dear, don’t talk like that. They’re the best fel
lows in the world.”
“Oh, sure, sure. Fine fellows. Good company. Better
company than your wife. More attractive than your dinner.”
She is a great mimic, that woman in the apartment across
the hall. This is what we heard from her (falsetto tones) :
“All right, boys. Let’s thave another drink. The old
lady’s at home keeping supper. No hurry. Why should I
worry.
He protested.
"Now, honey," he wheedled. “You know it’s nothing
like that. You know I had to fight off six of them the other
Billy Gould and Belle Ashlyn In Chunks ol Chatter
Copyright. 1913, by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved.
B ILLY—All, good morning!
BELLE— Do you know anything else good?
BILLY—Yes, I’ve just sold my French bull dog.
BELLB—How much?
BILLY—Five thousand dollars.
BELLE—That’s some bull.
BILLY—And I have here a letter from father.
BELLE—What’s he say?
BILLY—Come home; the District Attorney’s dead.
BELLE—I hear that beards will be worn this season. Why don’t you
grow one? •
BILLY—Well, I’d love to grow a beard, but I wouldn’t know what to
do with It at night.
BELLE—I don’t get you.
BILLY—I mean I wouldn’t know whether to leave it outside the
bed covers or tuck it underneath.
BELLE—You're not supposed to worry about such a thing in New
York.
BILLY—Huh. Anybody can tell you’re from Brooklyn.
BELLE—Oh, can they?
BILLY—Sure. You’re always blowing about New York.
BELLE—Say. what’s your opinion about the bunny and the bear, and
all those dances?
*
BILLY—I think they're beastly.
BELLE—Well, I’m writing a book about them and I just wanted to
get a few opinions.
BILLY—You’re writing a book? Say, jiow old are you, anyway?
BELLE—I’ve Just arrived at eighteen.
BILLY—What detained you?
BELLE—Can you tell me what makes a man always give a woman a
diamond engagement ring?
BILLY—A woman.
BELLE—I’m glad you admit It.
BILLY—But I went into a department store this morning to buy some
stockings, and— <
BELLE—And what?
BILLY—And the girl asked me if I wanted something for my wife or
something expensive.
BELLE—You have an awfully good memory.
BILLY—Thank you.
BELLE—Because you know some of the oldest Jokes I ever—
BILLY—Pardon me, how many grandchildren have you?
BELLE—Now, my dear Harry—
BILLY—Harry? You mean Billy, don’t you?
BELLE—Excuse me. I was thinking this was Thursday.
BILLY—I saw our maid Bridget pencilling her eyebrows the other
night.
BELLE—She’d better look out. She’ll be arrested.
BILLY—What for, assisting Nature?
BELLE—No. Changing the map of Ireland,
BILLY—I went fishing the other day.
BELLE—Catch anything?
BILLY—Don’t say that. This is a new fish story.
BELLE—Well, go ahead.
BILLY—But as the story goes, I didn’t catch anything anyhow. They
told me the fish were all asleep.
BELLE—Asleep? Where do fish sleep?
BILLY—In the river beds.
BELLE—Speaking of water and things, how do you like my new
bathing suit?
BILLY—I can’t see It
BELLE—What!
BILLY—I mean it’s a peach. There’s nothin’ to It
BELLE—What do you think of my complexion?
BILLY—It’s the clearest I’ve ever seen.
BELLE—Really?
BILLY—I can Bee right through it
BELLE—Well, my hair is all my own anyway.
BILLY—It’s false.
BELLE—It’s true. Didn’t I pay for It?
BILLY—There goes a man down the street who has a regular baseball
family.
BELLE—Greetings of the season.
BILLY—Yes. His wife is there with the curve*. His eon bats. The
bahv bawls, and he himself has to steal home every night,
tLLLE—Game's over. ‘ ■**»■» -