Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

6 E ITEARST’S SUNDAY AMERICAN, ATLANTA, OA., SUNDAY, JULY 27, 1913. Up and Down With The Atlanta Dean 01 Elevator Men Jeff Simply Wanted To Be Sure oi a Hearing-* By Bud Fisher i Mutt and Jeff Appear Every Day in The Atlanta Georgian. Copyright. 1913, .by the Stir Company, Great Britain Rights Reserved. A LL persons who have ever l<een In the Atlanta National Bank j building, which means every body In Atlanta from first to last. j have seen Evander <1. Griggs. His, particular private realm Is elevator, No. 1, which he has o|>erate<l \ year after year, since the skyscraper | first was laid down. In fact, he Is the dean of the elevator toys of At lanta. and he bns seen many Inter estlng things. As to personal appearance, he has a tender eye and a bushy red mus tache. His voice is soft as It drawls out “Second Floor,” or whatever the stop may to. But his hand has al ways been true and firm in handling the lever of his ear. This charioteer of the skyscraper has many stories to tell like these: • • • • I’ve had a lot of ups and downs. In fact, 1 might say that my life In the pursuit of my profession—please remember that It is a profession— has been just ups aud downs. But with It all I’ve met doctors and law yers and butchers and bakers and candlestick makers—there are all sorts of men in this building, and all of them ride this elevator, aud all are interesting. Speaking of lawyers reminds me of one who came here six years or so ago. He was just a kid then, but he’s getting along pretty well now. But for a long time it was mighty hard pickings for him. Every afternoon when my car passed his office late In the after noon, 1 would hear a toll ringing on the other side of the closed door. I wondered what It was for a long time, as I knew he had no telephone —he couldn't afford one. Finally I mel him one day with un alarm clock under his arm. “Taking it home, eh?” I said. “Good thing at this time of the year. Everybody is likely to oversleep him self these mornings." The young lawyer smiled. “1 dvhc’1 buy that clock to wake me up In tue uuttfatg*," he confessed. “I keep It here to v. nss gw when it’s time to go home." * • * There used to to a tailor up es the eighth floor, and he was about the best person In the world when it came to jollytug customers. Some of them would come up with a grouch, and go hack smiling. They told me their troubles, a lot of them. As a matter of fact, many people tell me their troubles. One day a fellow went up cussiug about the suit he had just bought. He had it on, and it fit about as well as a horse blanket—and looked something like one. He said he was going to take it hack, and not pay a cent. After a while he came back. He was still wearing the same suit and a downcast face. “What’s the matter?” I asked him. “Ain’t he going to fix the suit?” “Oh, he said, dolefully-. “The suit's all right. 1 just found out that I'm too fat here, too thick here, and my legs are too short.” • * • In one of the offices up three or four floors, there was a visitor one day whom everybody in the estab lishment liked and joked with. Soon after he came In, there entered a woman sollcitihg for a charitable en terprise. The proprietor, wishing to play a joke on the visitor, told the woman to “ask the boss,” pointing to him. But Mr. Visitor wasn’t a bit put out by this. He turned quickly to the proprietor, who is a little fellow, and said: “Boy, give this lady a dollar out of the drawer.” And he did. * * * One of the best known men in the building Is H. M. I’atty, the lawyer. The other day 1 heard them tell a story about him, although I can’t vouch for the truth of It. You know Mr. Patty is always up to writing poetry. According to the story, he went to see a doctor one day, feeling rather out of sorts. “Now,” said the doctor, “you are not in good shape, and 1 must abso lutely forbid all brain work.” “But, doctor,” insisted the lawyer- poet. “may I not write some verses?” “Oh, sure,” the doctor said, and laughed. "You can write ail the verses you want to.’’ * • • Do you know, there is no limit to good, hearty laughs in this world. No class of people, no profession among men, is without its jokers. And I, riding men of every calling, hear them all tell typical stories. For instance, the other day there were a number of ministers in the building. And this is the story one of them told on the eloth: A convocation of ministers, he |id, had just taken place when a t went one day to buy some fry- f- THIi .lb TH6 FKST TtfAC He e'sSR-UBT tA6 TAKE ITOvrAcoae WSU, * «AHbHT AS WeU. SW(»<\ <N AND FAC.G THtJ . t Gvsrr STAY H6RG | - weiA. - NO* ru_ tX.PLtWH IT TO You. you see lwas Kt-'NNlNfc,. ALONG- SLOW/ amo mix. 'miilujlk... . Society Notes from' Bugville By HARVEY PEAKE. Copyright, !9ia. by the 8Ur Company. Great Britain Kigtiu Reserved. M R. AND MRS. SLEEK-BLACK BEETLE gave a dance on Thursday for their debutante daughter. Miss Lady Bug, in th» parlors of the Pumpkin Hotel. The rooms were lighted throughout with new Incandescent fireflies and the walls were hung with festoons of cobwebs, held In place with clus ters of mustard seed. All of the smartest society of Bugville wae present. At the morning musical given by Mr. and Mrs. Catterplller on Friday the following artlBtB appeared: Miss Katy Did sang a soprano solo, Mr. Mosquito sang a tenor aria, the Fly sisters were encored en thusiastically for their buzzing duet, Mr. Locust played an ex quisite ’cello solo upon his hind legs, Mrs. Bee gave a contralto solo and a chorus of wasps sang a stirring number entitled “Sting Me to Sleep.” Mr. and Mrs. Flea, who have so long resided In the frame structure owned by Mr. Towser, will, on the first of the month, move Into the Fido flats. Mr. and Mrs. Centipede gave a grubworm dinner on Thursday to granddaddy Longlegs, in honor of his eightieth birthday. The wedding of Miss Spider and Mr. Fly was solemnized last eve ning at the Church of the Holy Cob web, the Reverend Brown Moth presiding. The church was beau tifully decorated with bits of thistle down delicately caught together in the most unexpected places. A choir, made up of the groom’s rela tives, buzzed the wedding chorus from "The Sugar Bowl.” The beautiful ceremony of the silken coil was used and was wit nessed by practically all of Bug- ville’s best society. ing chickens from old Aunt Sally, who generally had plenty for sale. “Why tor’ me! All my chickens done entered de ministry, sail!” ex claimed the old woman when he told iter wlmt he wanted. • • * One of the tost known men in the building Is Lawyer E. F. Childress, who has been in his present quarters for years and years, almost since the building was erected, and so long that the corner on the second floor, where his office Is placed, is gener ally known ns Childress’ Crossing. Anyhow, he tells u lot of stories, and good ones. Here is one of his: A woman was in a law court when she was usked her age, and answered “Thirty-five.” “But," objected the Judge, “you were before me two years ago, and you said then that you were thirty- five." “Your Honor,” she loftily replied, “I am not one who would say one thing at one time, and another thing at another time.” * * * As there are so many lawyers In the building, a good bit of the talk that we hear in the elevators is about politic^. Nowadays they deal largely In gossip and discussion of the wom an suffrage question. The other day 1 took a party of lawyers up. ‘Here’s a good one,” said one of the lawyers, “I heard It just to-day.” It seems that three newly wedded men were talking of their homes. “I’ve a kitchenette in my flat.” said one. “That’s nothing," said another, “1 hnve a cellnrette In mine.” The third one sighed. “I’ve .got n suffragette in mine,” he announced. * * * The same party came down at lunch time. They started again the suffragette talk. "Here’s one to match the story you told this morning.” said one of the bunch. This is what he told: A rich woman who believed ar dently in woman suffrage, allowed her groom to go to town on one elec tion day. “Well, James.” she said, enviously, when he returned. “1 suppose you hnve been exercising the franchise?" With a touch of hts forehead, James answered: “Please, ma’am, which horse ts that?” ‘ • • • The next dnv the third member of the party hud a suffragette story, too. Here it is: “What brought you here, my man?” asked a Jail visitor of a pris oner. “I married a new woman, sur,” was the reply. “Aha! and she was so domineering and extravagant that It drove to desperate courses, eh?” “No,” answered the -prisoner. "The old woman turned up.” H Grim Fairy Tales Copynght, 1913, by «o* BUr. Omnimny. Great Britain Rlfchta Rreerred. AND laundries. Warranted for one year. “I’ve had a lovely time.” Straight fronts. “You don’t look a day over twenty-three.” Private dining rooms. All men are bom free and equal. No place like home. “Thank you, I’d just as soon stand.” 3 p. m. edition. "We’d love to have you call.” Cheaper than paying rent. Boneless fish. "I’d as soon have elder as champagne.” ’Till death do us part.” "If elected I shall serve the common people.” Official temperatures. "I came unprepared to speak.” Epitaphs. * * * to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing the truth. but Reduced from $1.50 to 69 cents. Telephone Service. “Oh, What a Pretty Baby!” The Golden Rule. Beauty Is Only Skin Deep. Love in a Cottage. Absense Makes the Heart Grow Fonder. “I Do.” It Was Only a Baby After All Copyright. 1918. by tbo Star C<*np«oy. E VERYTHING was as calm and serene at Gilthurst-on-the-Long-Green as a Sunday afternoon on the Dead Sea. Which was as it should be. There was never a ripple to dis turb the dignified calm, the ultra-refined, super-arlstocratlc atmosphere of till highest-priced Summer resort In the land. Mrs. Doughby-Scadds reclined In a tapestry hammock, idly finger ing a string of pearls as big as the lump of ioe the brigand puts in your refrigerator. There was absolutely no expression to her face. She could not have gained entrance to this select place with any sort of an expression. Claude Plunkster Bume motioned hie valet to bring him c cigarette. Miss Waddsoffltt and Algeron Doughhedde were the liveliest ones there. They were annoying the others because they were Carrying on a conversation. "Beastly, isn't It?" said Algeron. "Beastly,” replied Miss WaddBOffltt. There was a pause of ten minutes. “It must be getting later," ventured Miss Waddsoffltt. Algernon tried to think this out for himself, but gave It up. “Ya’as," he responded. And so their lively conversation went on. Colonel Pilesoffltt exerted himeelf and tossed his cigar butt fully seven Inches away. Horace Blllyunns yawned and crossed his legs Mrs. Horace Billyuns just yawned. It was the usual Beene of activity at Ollthurat-on-the-Long-G-reen. In fact it was at the height of the season. The proprietor could not re member when he had seen it se active. At times as many as three people were promenading the wide veranda. A car approached the great hotel, hut being on the sdnny side no guests saw It. Some people alighted. They walked through the great hotel and out on the veranda. Mrs. Doughby-Scadds stared, tossed her pearls aside, stood up and ran to the strange group! Miss Waddsoffltt and Algernon ran, hand In hand, to see. Mrs. Dee Vhoo Say flopped out of a hammock, got up, gathered up her skirts and ran to Join the party. Colonel Pilesoffltt forgot his gout and hopped along with Blllyunns and his wife. " “Mercy!” “What is itr "How droll?” "Why—why, I—I believe it is—it looks like—can it be?—It is! It’s a BABY!” Never before had a baby been brought to Gllthurstron-the-Long- Green! "I—I didn't know they got bald so early?” stammered Algernon. “Why doesn’t it talk to tw?" queried Miss Waddsoffltt. ■Does—he—er—ehe—that Is—1L play golf?” Colonel Pilesoffltt wanted to know. "It Is a real, live babyr" chorused the crowd. “I—think It must be,” declared Mrs. Doughby-Scadds. 'Tve seen pictures of babies, you know, and the resemblance Is striking.” “Why—er—does it—er—belong to some one?” asked Claude. Great Britain Right* Reaarred. "I think it does, you know eometlmes they do. I should fancy per haps some one owns It," eald Miss Waddsoffltt, who had been to college., “Yes ma'am,” answered the nurse, “it belongs to Mrs. Allgould.” “He's a little beggar. Isn’t she? Will It have a highball?” Inquired the genial Colonel Pilesoffltt. "I must give him his dinner,” said the nurse. "Set his table right out here, my good woman, and let us watoh him eat,” urged Algernon. “Sir!” snapped the nurse, getting red. “My word,” yawned Billyunns, “he must be a baahfnl little geezer ” "I think.” said Mrs. Blllyunns, contracting her brow in deep thought, "I think they—er"—— She paused and whispered something to Blllyunns. "You don’t say!” he exclaimed. "Oh—ho, that’s It, eh? Algeron, come hither, I would talk with you,” and they sat down. The nurse went In with the baby. Claude Plunkster Burne motioned hie valet to bring him another cigarette. Mrs. Doughby-Scadds called a maid to plok up her pearls. Colonel Pilesoffltt settled back In a chair and went to sleep. Mrs. Dee Vhoo Say resumed her pastime of looking out over the water. Algernon Doughedde strolled over and sat down beside Miss Wadds offltt. Billyunns crossed his legs and yawned. Mrs. Blllyunns yawned. h ! S'ttj - “Beastly. Isn’t It?” commented Algeron. '“Beastly." affirmed Miss Waddsoffltt. There was a deathly silence for ten minutes. "I Just know It’s getting later," asserted Miss Waddsoffltt "What, again?” ventured Algernon. And once In a while the waves broke gently on the sands with » muffled sound. The Two Brightest Spots in Summer Fiction r ADAM’S CLAY By the Celebrated Author COSMO HAMILTON Now running in The Sunday Ameri can. If you have not started it, bet ter do so in this issue. It’s full of thrills and sex interest, handled with up-to-date fearlessness. N The Plot for the Pennant By HUGH S. FULLERTON The Inventor of Inside Baseball This great story of a titanic battle in the national game will in the near future be added to the many fea tures which have made The Snnday American the leading paper of the whole South.