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A Picture Story With Just One Word
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Where Safety Lay.
EVEN the war has its bright side. Two negro porters were discussing it
as they waited for a train to puill into the station.
“Man,” said the first, “dem Germany submaroons is sho’ly gwine to
sink de British Navy. Yas, sir-ee, dey’s sho'ly gwine to ‘splode dem naval
boats dat’s waitin’ out yonda.”
“Sho!” said porter No. 2. “An’ what's gwine ter happen den?”
“Why, dem Germany submarcons’ll come right on 'cross de ocean an’
‘aplode de rest ob de naval boats ob de world. Dat's what'll happen den,
Sambo!”
“Well, looky heah, Gawge. Afn’t you an’ me better decla’ onahselves
nootral?”’ ~y
“Man,” said Gawge, “yo’ all kin be & nootrality’if yo' wants to. Ah'm
a German!”
They May, at That.
FOGA:R.‘I‘Y—-X'II bet ye th’ Rooshians are beginnin’ t' feel th’' loss 1V
vodka.
Flaherty—Don’t ye lose any slapes over it. Marrk me wur-ruds, they’ll
retake it agin before long!
Caution.
LADY (purchasing alarm clock)—Never mind, thank you. I won't take
one if they are made in Germany. It would be sure to play some
trick. Go off in the middle of the night, or something of that sort,
(Copyright, 1915, by The Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved.)
DW does a popular song get to be a hit on Broadway, and on the
H phonograph, and the pianola, in the music halls, dance halls,
between the acts, and finally rampant in every town from Mat
teawan to Honolulu? ' .
A contagious song hit travels faster than chicken pox in a kinder
garten, and its gripping melody bombards the ears of every American
more persistently than all the talk of the most popular novel of the
year.
Leo Feist’s system of following up his experiments in ragtime is
probably as successful as that of any song publisher. We were out
gcouting around with one of Leo's right-hand henchmen the other
night—Phil-the-bill Kornheiser by name, but we call him Korny for
brevity—and he showed us the difference between the two maln words
in the rag lingo, “plugger” as applied to a ginger and ‘“crow’” as hung
onto a song.
Korny is the main gazooks at I.eo’s professional studio, where a
dozen pianos bang louder all day than German siege guns before
Antwerp.
Well, we started in at Jack's where we et, They were playing
gsome of Leo‘'s recent hits, They'd snap out a hunch-hunch rag, then
they'd tease out a heart throb mother song that wouid make the diners
pause over their soup.
Then we spun down into East Fourteenth street, and chased into
With the Pluggers on the Trail of the Ragiime Song
On the Firing Line
Copyright, 1915, by the Star Company. Great Britaln Rights Reserved.
Arranged With Enemy.
THERE'S a story going the rounds“just now that shows how Austria was
deprived of one of her fighting men.
A visitor to a West End restaurant in London, being walited on by a
particularly tall and fine-looking waiter with a foreign accent, asked the
man his nationality.
“Oh, I'm a Hungarian,” was the reply.
“How comes it, then, that a big, strong fellow llke you is not in the
firing line?” asked the visitor.
“Well, sir, it's like this,” replied the knight of the napkin, pointing
to a brother waiter a few tables off. "You eee that man? Well, he's a
Serb, and we have vat you call ‘paired.’”
Then They Clinched.
THE Irish adjutant's wife was telling Bridget about her husband.
“My husband, Bridget,” she said, proudly, “fs at the head of the
Tipperary militia.”
“Of t'ought as much, ma’'am,” said Bridget, cheerfully. “Ain’t he got
th’ foine malicious look?”
Why, Indeed?
SHOPKEEPER—Ca.ndIes are up In price to-day, y' know, Mrs. O'Flynn—
on account of the war. ‘
Mrs. O'Flynn—Ooch! Bad cess to them Germans. Why can’t
they be fightin' be daylight? :
a dime theater where movies have the edge on the vodevee acts. A
song writer’s carnival was on, and Korny and we were met there by a
gang of Leo’s pluggers and boosters. We all filed “back stage,” as the
profesh refers to the district behind the scenes.
There the pluggers began to talk up their songs to the actors and
actorettes, who were sitting around on various props. Then a pair of
boosters, one a plano trainer gnd the other a singeree, walked on and
put over “I Didn’t Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier,” “When You Were a
Tulip and I Wore a Big Red Rose” and “I Want to Go to Tokio.”
Old Johnny Nestor sang for Leo, and he harvested several thou
sand yards of applause, Johnny is famous up and down Manhattan.
He usta sing at the Polo Grounds at the opening of the baseball season.
and he'd drown out the band.
All we can say about Johnny as a songbird is that we don’t care
aven if Caruso has gone back to Europe, But Johnny has two weak
nesses, One is that he's always afraid the auto {s gonna hit a chicken.
It happened to him once, and she’s been sore on him ever since. The
other is that he perennially insists upon drinking only one kind of
beer, and cursed be the ginmill that doesn't keep it.
Where did we go from there? The Palm Garden, somewhere in
the upper East Fifties, and Al Piantadosi, Wopland's greatest rag
writer since Verdl, hopped out and showed the patrons how to take a
joke in the form of one of Leo's funny nut songs. One test of a good
Changing Fashions in Hostility.
A ZEALOUS bobby captured a workingman and haled him into court
on the charge of being an unregistered German. The man swore he
had a Russian birth-certificate, and produced it. Then said the magistrate
severely:
“But why, then, have you for ten years been masquerading as &
German?” :
. ‘““Because,” answered the man apologetically, “when I came to England
ten years ago the feeling against Russia was so strong that | was obliged
to pass myself off for a German.”
. —
Why?
JlNKß——But wisy do the ailies use camels?
Binks—They intend to invade Germany and have to have ap
animal that can go two weeks without water,
Safe So Far.
COUNT VON BERNSTORFF, the German Ambassador, called at the
State Department to-day, but before going to the office of Mr. Bryan
left his coat and umbrella in the diplomatic ante-room. On leaving he
started after the things, but saw a man looking out of the window, his
back to the door. .The Ambassador hesitated.
“Who's in there?’ he asked an attendant.
“The Minister of Santo Domingo,” came the rcply.
“Oh.” sald the Ambassador, "I can go in, We are not at war wita
Banto Domingo.”
song is when people begin to whistle it, and that’'s what they did. The
Palm Garden is some hangout for canary birds, '
We pounded up the cobblestones of Lexington avenue to way past
a Hundred and sump’m street. There we found a little theater where
you pay for admission anything up to and including fifteen cents, and
you put your overcoat under the seat, unless you want to keep it on.
Children in arms were allowed in the place, as long as they didn’t
roam from the arms they came in on. Paintings of alleged old Greek
myths were allowed on the walls, but the customers didn’t seem to
mind that. At the gate was a fella in uniform, a twelve neck and a
sixteen collar, and long, sparsely settied sideburns stretching weyy be
low the ears. He was a good butler for a theater.
Away up Fifth avenue is a new one-layer theater, and we hit that
next. They were packed in like tea in a chest. Johnny had a rough
time percolating down the aisle to the stage. The chorus of the soldier
song was eased on the screen, and everybody warbled, with greedy ap
petitßs. All mothers present decided then and there that f‘heir boys
should not carry guns.
After which Korny steered us up against another side of the game.
He took us into a hotel where we caught two piano fiends at work
right in the act of doping out another ragtime sensation. The guys
were Jim Monaco and Joe McCarthy, and they got blained for “Row,
Row, Row,” “I Love Her, Oh, Oh, Oh!"” “Oh, My Love, Wontcha Please
Pull Down the Curtain,” “When I Getchoo Alone To-night,” and several
dozen more. Jim has just put out his ‘“Pigeon Walk,” which has be
come very infectious at the danceries. It is a fox trot artistique. (Once
in a while we gotta use a French word to put class in the story.)
Late Sport News in
. .
This Section
Besides cartoons by that funny fellow,
Powers, and the regular issue of “The
Mornipg Smile.”
How to Have a Thin Time
By WILLARD CONNELY.
No. s—Visit Some Proud Parents
Copyright 1915, by the Btar Company. Great Britain Rights Ressrved
VERY tme 811 l saw us approsching he would run soross the streed
E around the corner, or up into the next block to stop us—as if we'
wore the last car home and be had to cetoh It Stop us sad tell
e & pew word his kid had sald that morning. Of all the pestilences
that roam this earth, noue is more epidemic, none more deadly, than
the father of & bouncing bret,
But BUI had always been kind to us. He brought us oranges onoe
when we were sick, and pever ate one himeelf, and he sent us his own
doctor, who, on sccount of friend Bill, went essy on the statement for
professional services rendered. More'n that, Bill and we had belonged
to the same lodge in college; so we were old saloon-mates togethen
Any tme we'd sing “It's Always Fair Weather” we'd guarantes to make
it cloudy. So we never tried to dodge him, aithough we wanted, oh how
we wanted more'n anything in the world, to give Bill the cure. At least
till his pup got out of the prodigy class
We thought If we went to see him at his home, just once, and med
the greatest little wiff that ever scoured & saucepan, and coddied the
oftspring a bit, Bill might cease to annoy us on the street with his
parental enthusiasm. And, who knew, we might put In & pleasant Sunday
that way, after all Bill had entreated us to “come out pnd see us,
won'toha? anywhere up to and including 1,000 times.
We took the 10:18, which is ghastly early for us to see daylight of
a Sunday. It had snowed all night and was raining viclously now,
which made it nice. Bat as long as we were in the train, what cared
we? We sat there like all the rest and read orr Sunday paper and threw
discarded hunks of it out in the alsle same as anybody else.
P{ll was there at the gtation and said litfle Mortimer was all excited
sbout our coming. Mortimer was dangerously near two years of old
age, mark yo. Then Bill observed that & was kinda wet, but come under
bis umbreila, and he guessed we'd make out all right. The walk to the
bouse was mud, slush, mud, slush, and everybody on their tip4oes te
find a place not quite so wet as often as possible. The rain sounded just
Hke stage rain, whnthymnmmdmhampduam
Grace dear greeted us at the door. Ebe sald, “Sh-h-h!”™ because
Mortimer had just dropped off to sleep, and he’d been fretful that morne
ing for some reason or ruther. The hallway was a little dim, and the
first thing we did was to trip over Mortimer's woolly dog on wheels. We
came down hard on the hardwood, which is not very kind to sea legs.
We were told that it was too bad. Then we got asked If we were
hurt. But we came up smiling, though aching. In fact, we all smiled,
/ but the next moment & report came in from Mortimer—*“Eb-heh-eh-heh
wah-wahoowow!!” Grace dear clasped her hands and turned on us
with farrowed brows. “Now you've wakened him.” she announced, with
her jaw a bit rigid. “Yes, now you've done it!" sald 8111. We sad
sump’'n, we dono what, which involved the word sorry.
The world-beating (mayhap husbandbeating) wiff gathered her
skirt and did the hundred-yard dash up to where Mortimer hung out
Bill and we, looking reproachful at each other downstairs, could hear
her saying, “There, there,” with a bunch of petsy talk thrown in. B
confessed that Mortie was a very seusitive child—just Ilike his mother,
and his mother's folks, too.
Then Grece dear came walking majestically downstairs with her
contribution te the next generation, and said that Mortimer simply
wouldn't go to sleep again, for he insisted on seeing the “nice” mas
(who hed nevertheless proved himself to be & careless slumber-bustar),
Then she dared us to say that baby wasn't a grand specimen of archd
tecture, and we didn't take the dare. $
Mortimer had one fist the magority of the way into his mouth. The
room was 80 cold he was prob’ly trying to keep his hand warm. He
Jooked at us as if he had sump'n on us—bout the way Jerome has looked
at Thaw whenever he's seen 'lm, and that’s aplenty, for the last nine
years. Bill asked why we didn't say sump'm to the little fella, and we
said we were afraid we'd start the cry stuff again. Then Bill sald, “Oh,
no,” and Orace said, “Merey, no.”
80 we swallowed nothin’ a coupla times to give ourself courage, and
sald, very gently, we thought, “What's your name?” Mortimer sald,
“Ump,” and Bill told us to ask him again, and not to make it so rough.
Bo we chanted it, and the kid said, “Aw-er.” Then Grace and Bill ap
plauded heavily and said, In unison, “That's right; Mortimer. Isn’t that
distinot?’ And we sald, “Great. The kid'll be an orator some day.” §
“No. said Bill. He's gonta be a doctor. He has a very analytioal
mind, and great endurance. Grace warts to make a banker out of m,
but he’ll never make & banker because he throws all the pennies he gets
down the register.” }
“Maybe he thinks the register's the bank,” we chanced. o
“Aw, no,” countered Grace. “He's too wise for that.” o
Wise is no name for it. But we didn't tell 'em so inasmuch as w@
were commencing to think about dinner, 4
“Ges if he'll come to you,” said Bill, who was a little huffy on ao
ocounta Mortimer’s undivided attention to friend Grace.
“Come on over and see us, Mortle,” we pleaded, holding out ousr
arms as if making a stage bow to a large, appreciative audience. The
kid waddled over, strange as it may eeem, and fell on us. He took only
three steps, but we felt ourself called upon to predict that he would
eventually be a transcontinental pedestrian. When you play to a parental
audience yuh gotta lie for all yer life’'s worth. ‘We took Mort up in ous
wings and were told to look out and not drop him. ]
The thing musta thought we were time, for he grabbed us by the
torelock. It was about llke old Uncle Steve usta grab the bay hoss and
ease the bridle into her teeth. The one thing we rejoiced about was thes.
we didn’'t have any glasses to %nock off and pay $8 to get 'em fixed.
Mortie next decided to separate us from a flewer we sported in ous
‘lapel. When we demurred he let out a yip and handed us a sweeping
gmack across the cheek bone. Then Grace sald, “Oh, that's not nice,.
dearie,” and we agreed with her. She told baby to beg our pardon, so
he scowled at us as if to gay, “Please don’t excuse me.”
Bill had walked out on us, to see how far dinner was from being
peady. We let Grace take Mortie, willingly, and she swung him alof¢
and allowed that he was the sweetest thing that ever breathed. We
hope she'll be forgiven for that one. We maintain there’s many an
onion now alive that's sweeter.
We went in to eat, and Bill put us beside son, beoause, he said, we
were old pals by now, and he was gonna make Mortle say “uncle®
whenever he saw us after that. If we ever see him again we'll make
him say “Help!”
At dinpner he went on to splash us and get things on us vrllw
he had the opportunity. Of course, as those responsible for his bclu
gaid, it was unavoidable, but still he did it, and we in our new suit, too.
We threatened to go put on our storm-coat. % %
In the afternoon Bill asked if we'd mind if he and Grace went out
to make a short call and le€t us with Mortie. We said we would.
sald we'd go make the call and leave them, and unless the traln was
wrecked nearby, we wouldn't be brought back, %, “, il