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— — 1 m Vi J "OflBQiWffl P P%mi “ S9O0.D Oil] 3 DMnxi I TT Py72± L\ Jk i T7 L» £T\ T7 Zi L. mf 1 BEST HUMOR, MOV1NO PICTURES, VAUDEVILLE. m ATLANTA, GA., SUNDAY, AUGUST 3, 1913. T Limit By T. E. POV/ERS, the Famous Cartoonist Copyritfit, 1*1S, by tb* Stw. Company. Great Britain Rifbta Jtewrved. t* . suffering cats'! fftOMtSED 'To meet Acy VILAS AT Q o'clock [AND HERr it IS IO-3o. jrs co/^UHc, 7a Ate T R n kJ SAY 1 LISTEN. 1 I WAHT"lb SQUARE. MYSELF WITH MY WIFE. ID LIKE To C,ET HER A DOZ-EN PAIRS OF qt-OVES OML-T \ Don't KNOW HER- SIZE o I « THAT5 EASY! COME HERE -.qirl-s 1 .!j . , HMt AH YES* ( VERY FfNE OHDEA*! M-/M-/V >ts! AH HUM Cr-R-Ft-R.- • l » 4 I > ~u fwv4 i \ N ^2^sV r LA D l E * YTEAR (Xu O^VVD^V) /X ? » Vou Forgot Somethinc,? CO - ( YE5.IWANTTO qET A DoXEH PAIRS '■ OF SILK STOCKINqs FOR MY WIFE BUT t v DoNT KNOW HER SIE-E.'y L t i I * Please Excuse Us, BUT— i '- N AT—Say, listen! This Is such a hot night that a bunch of the chorus girls expect to get fired. LAURIE!—Oh, I say. are you they-ah? No, I’m not “he-ah.” I’m out in the hall swimming in the water-cooler. LAURIE—But, my de-ah fellow, I didn’t see you for the moment. NAT—Take that skylight out of your eye and you might coma to. LAURIE—Give up my monocle? I should Jolly well hope not. Really Nat, you’re a perfect rott-ah! NAT I are, are I? Don’t you call me names. I’m liable to forget to answer. . LAURIE I take it you would even have me forget Im Engnsn. NAT—Gwan, you ain’t English. You only came from London. LAURIE—Well aren’t Londoners NAT—No they ain’t. Are all New Yorkers Americans? LAURIE •“ Ain’t.” My word, what kind of language Is that? NAT-No. It’s not your word. "Ain’t" Is a good old American word wo got from the Indians. They used to use “ain't” In “paint." LAURIE-Why, you bally blight-ah. You don’t even know the King s i English NAT -What is he then, Irish? LAURIE—No, vou silly oss. England nev-ah runs out of kings. NAT—1 remember when they had to go to Germany to get one. LAURIE—Ah, yes; that was a—rawther unfortunate, y’know. might have put US—a-aw—'“in German.” as you slangy Americana gay. gay, men. that’s rawther clev-ah of me, eh. what? — Copyright, 193 3, by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved. NAT—(Dont’ mind him. He means “in Dutch.”) LAURIE—But it wasn’t in Holland, you know. It happened In Ger many, so we could hardly refer to It as “Dutch," could we? NAT—You’re some Joker, Laurie. I gotta give yuh credit . LAURIE—Eh? Give me credit? NAT—Sure, Gimme a match. Quick. LAURIE—Why, you’ve stolen my matches, you blooming bound-ah. They’re Just like you now, I suppose. NAT—Here’s a warm gag, now. How are the matches like me? LAURIE—Because they’re all lit up. (Lawfter.) NAT (to volet)—Hey, Jim, hurry up with that vacuum cleanerl LAURIE—I would I were back In de-ah old London. NAT-—Say, London’s an awful sad town, d’yuh know It? Ton’ll admit that, won’t you, Laurie? LAURIE—Sad? Why should it be sad? Why—I haven’t read the paper to-day—you don’t mean to say the King’s dead, or something, do you? NAT—No. I don’t think so. The last time he wrote me he said he was still alive. I have to take his word for It, though. LAURIE—Let me tell you, old top, London Is the best town In the good old world. NAT—Maybe. But not in the new world. LAURIE—That’s rawther good, y’know. NAT—I still maintain London’s a bum town. Bum theatres, bum little three-story buildings, bum hotels—It’s so bum it gives you the bumps. '.T-AL'RIE—Tush and nonsense! Make off with your silly oss plad- When Nat Fields Bad What Does Laurence D’Orsay? Dressing-Room Secrets of Two of the Popular Comedians in “All Aboard.” tudes. You are spoofing me. What do you know about London? You haven’t even been they-ah. NAT—I know, but I’ve seen the pictures, haven’t I? LAURIE—By Jove, I hadn’t thought of that. ^ NAT—Is that an all-wool suit you have there, Laurie? LAURIE—Most assuredly. Do you take me for one of you cotton-fed Americans? NAT—No. I was Just wondering what made you look so sheepish. LAURIE—Good. Til tell that at the Lambs Club. NAT—That'll be about all of that, Laurie. Now if you ever did hear a good gag In your life, let’s have It. Throw a little John Ball for us. LAURIE—Well, I really did think of an extraordinarily astute Joke to-day. I say, what brand of beer do the latest style skirts remind you of? NAT—Gee, that's a hard one. Drink up—what’s the solution? LAURIE—Give It up? Why, Slash's, of course. Haw-haw! Deuced clev-ah, eh, what? NAT (Jo valet)—Hey, Jim! The Interment will be at Woodlawn Cem etery. Kindly omit nothing but flowers. LAURIE—They-ah you go, talking that bally rot again. Why cant yon bury the hatchet? NAT—Chop that stuff, win ruh? No, but really that was a fairly decent gag. Now, If you’d pull a few unconscious ones like that we might let you live. As soon as you try to tell a Joke, you spoil It all. LAURIE—I say, Nat. A few minutes ago you said you had to give me credit. Now, how in the wop^ii did you know i wanted to borrow some money! There’s a Way lo Reach the Homes ot the People It is through the Want-Ad Col umns ot the SUNDAY AMERICAN and ATLANTA GEORGIAN The Week-Enders “w: How Our Old Summer Resort Friends, The Hunters, Week End It Through the Present Sultry Season. No. 2—With the Van der Vituses at Slaphurst on-the-Bog, N. J. Copyright, 1918, by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved. ■ HERE’S my old sweater?” ’’Now, John Hunter, what on earth do yen wRnt of a sweater? We aren’t going to the North Pols'’ “I wish we were,” said Hunter. “We are going to visit the Van der Vituses at Slaphurst-on-the-Bog, in. New Jersey. It’s a week-end party, you know, and you may not believe It, but a number of the New Jersey people are quite human.” "Maw, I want to take my baseball and mitt; It’s country out there, an* I can play ball," begged Willie Hunter. "No. you take a book to read and be refined. I don't want them to think you are a hoodlum and fond of baseball" The Van der \ltuses lived In a charming house out In Slaphurst. There was a tennis court and a formal garden and wide-spreading lawns. Van der Vitus seemed quite as nice at home as he did In town. They were seated on the veranda. The host brought out some drinks in a long glass In which the Ice tinkled. Hunter was nearly choked. He grasped his glass and took the first cooling, delicious swallow, when "Biff!” some thing hit him on the cheek and away went glass, drink and all. Balling over the rail and crashing on the cement walk. "What the” "Pardon me, dear," Mrs. Hunter said, sweetly, "but I killed a mos quito on your face" "You’d have killed an elephant If he’d been there, and that drink" “Oh, never mind,” laughed the host, “ni get you another. Just this time of year, If the wind happens to be right, we get a few mosquitoes." "The wind Is right.” smiled Hunter, weakly, as he walloped himseif on his bald spot where a oonple of mosquitoes were sinking an artesian well. "This tastes good,” gurgled Mrs. Hunter, enjoying her drink. "Alter you have finished that you can go down and scrape up mine you knocked over the rail,” sneered Hunter; “hut why,” he added, “do you pour It In your lap Instead of down your throat; do you think it will help that new dress?” “Mercy!” exclaimed Mrs, Hunter, "I didn’t notice, I was—er—some thing”— "Nice stockings," commented Hunter, "long, too.” Mrs. Hunter flushed. “A mosquito bit me on my ankle and I was scratching, that’s why I spilled the drink.” "Ankle!” snorted Hunter, but the host approached with another drink. Hunter grasped It In both hands and moved away from his wife. Mrs. Van der Vitus Joined them on the veranda "I think,” she said, “the view from here Is (slap).’’ She brushed away the slain mosquito. "It Is quite (slap)," answered Mra Hunter. “There’s nothing like the country. I (slap) frequently pity the poor city folks who (slap) cannot enjoy the (slap) beauties of the green (slap) fields and shady (slap) roads and refreshing (slap) air." explained Van der Vitus. "It is, Indeed, cha-umph! (slap).” Hunter was about to say "charm- ling,” but one cannot slap onesself upon the top of the head while tulkiug and enunciate clearly. , Mrs- Hunter dropped her handkerchief merely to enable herself to get In a sly scratch at her ankle as she picked It up. Willie threw down hls book. "Aw, fudge Maw, I can’t read, I keep loosin’ my place reachln’ down to keep these nxaskeeters from chawin’ my legs” * "Limbs, Willie,” corrected hls mother. "There’s three on your limbs right now,” Willie laughed. “Oh, don’t mind us, we all scratch our ankles here, it’s so prudish to sit and suffer,” explained Mrs. Van der Vitus. “Willie, I wouldn’t read, run out In the garden and play,” she added. "We (slap-slap)—there, darn you, as I was saying, we used to have our verander (slap), gotcher—I mean screened In, but no screen Is (slap) enough—I mean, fine (Blap) enough to keep the young mosquitoes out and they (slap) grow up Inside and can’t (slap) get out,” explained Van der Vitus. "How odd,” smiled Mrs. Hunter, but her smile froze on her face; she wriggled as though having a fit and asked to be excused. Mrs. Van der Vitus followed her in, and as Hunter lighted a cigar, hoping the smoke would protect him, voices drifted down from above. “ almost Impossible to get them out,” Mrs. Van der Vltua waa saying. “ hardly poRSerble to—er—that Is, In company,” complained Mra. Hunter. Hunter smoked Hke a peat fire, and a crowd of mosquitoes flocked la from the garden and nearly covered him. “’They rather like good cigar smoke,” explained Van der Vitus, laugh ing amd fanning himself with hls handkerchief. At dinner It wasn’t so bad. An electric fan kept them at bay. After dinner they went for a ride In the car, and as it was a sixty^horse power machine they managed to keep ahead of the mosquitoes except when they put on the low gear for hill climbing. That night Mr. and Mrs. Hunter took turns sitting up and keeping the mosquitoes away with a fan. In the morning their faces were swollen, their eyes red from lack of sleep, and their dispositions not fit to discuss. "The wind has changed; If It doesn’t swing too far around we’ll be all right," explained Van der Vitus after breakfast, and they eat for nearly an hour on the veranda before the wind did swing around- "You see,” explained Van der Vitus, "there’s a bit of low land to the East, and another bit to the West, and sometimes I think perhaps our mosquitoes come from there." Hunter took a look at the Mt of low land. You could sail the Im- perator across most of It, and the bog on the East ran around to meet the bog on the West, while the bog on the West performed a like affiliation with the bog on the East.” The Hunters never remembered quite how they got through Sunday and Sunday night; but when they got home and the doctor had pre scribed stuff for them. Hunter took his wife one side. He talked steadily to her for ten minutes. "I never, never, never heard such language," Mra. Hunter exclaimed. "And I never, never, never suffered so much, eto., etc., etc., etc.,” de clared Hunter. "Anyway, there won’t be any mosquitoes up to the Sleepers, where we are going neset week,” hts wife said. “Oh. are we?" sneered Hunter. "We ore.'” she replied. And they did. ~ f.