Robert and the other Coffeyville lads
to go light on cigarets.
the advertisements for feihale help
(Copyright by W. G. Chapman.)
CAN YOiTbEAT THIS?
In all your born days,, did you ever
read the parallel to this recent dis
patch from Coffeyville, Kas.;
"To save their schoolmate, Rob
ert Murray, from a sentence to the
state industrial school in the juvenile
court, every boy pupil in the McKin
ley school here signed a pledge to
abandon the use of tobacco in every
form. Upon the strength of this
pledge and a petition for leniency,
Probate Judge Osborn consented to
give Robert another chance."
What, think you, had been the aw
ful crime of this small son of the sun
flower state which had so moved the
court to the exercise of its dire pre
rogative? Murder? No. Arson? No. Listen
as we whisper.
Robert had been caught smoking
cigarets on the school grounds.
If he had gone behind dad's barn
or down to the old swimming hole
or into the woods, the threat of im
murement in the prison for incorri
gible boys would not have descended
on the youthful shoulders with the
impact of a pile driver. Nor would
all his pals in school have had to sign
away their liberties in a heroic at
tempt to keep him among them.
But because he was not a sneak;
because, young as he was, he still
had some promptings of independ
ence, he was scared out of a year's
growth and his playmates were scar
Mind you, no moral suasion. No
appeal to reason. Just threat.
We're mighty glad that most juve
nile courts aren't run m that fashion.
A judge who would send a boy to
the average industrial school for
smoking ought himself to be sent
some place where they teach judges
how to be human.
Aiid at that it's no doubt best for
A quaint sort of chap insisted that
I accompany him to his- boarding
house for dinner, don't you know.
The first course served was soup,
which, to confess the truth, was a bit
tasteless. This elicited the following
comments from mine host:
"Say, this soup tastes so flat you've
got to gargle it in B flat Lemme
season y;our pannikan, Ballyrot, with
some cayenne tonic and a dash of
Hungarian sneeze powder. There!
You've got d, dish" of ripples that will
spear your tongue on both sides and
singe the plaster off the roof of your
beak. That's the only "way you' can
doctor the soup they throw at yon
in this joint, 'cause they only drown
one bean in every gallon of it!"
Switzerland in 1912 exported em
broidery "valued at ?43,402,777.
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