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title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, July 31, 1916, LAST EDITION, Image 17',
meta: 'News about Chronicling America - RSS Feed',
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
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1 nut wont get anuther vacation until
the desert of sahara is covered with
snow 9 ft deep.
AIN'T NATURE WONDERFUL!
new york there is a lawyer feller
here what has a brand new devorse
soot on his hands & there is all so a
man who knows he aint as smart as
he thought he was
This lad wanted the worst way to
get away & take a little run down to
a swell summer resort on the ocean
where a lot of purty girls do there
ananet kellerman stunts in 1-peace
Then the man gets bizzy & buys
a ticket for some hick town & when
he gets their he rites a duzzen postal
cards to his wife, with pitchers of
farm scenes on them & dates one
evry day for 2 weeks ahead & he slips
the. hotel keeper a 6 dollar willium to
mail them for him after he is gone, 1
he was having a jimdandy time,, by
golly, & hated to brake away, but his
2 weeks was up & so he beets it back
to the home & wife
how are you dere, he tells his wife,
i have missed you every day, and i
neerly roasted out there in the hot
feelds, but i took time evry nite to
walk to town and send you a post
card. yeSyhis wife sayd to him, that was
verry nise of you, i got all 14 of the
cards and you sined your name on
them nisely and got the rite dates
on them, but the next time you try
to slip something over on me, re
member that i wasent 'oornca yes
terdy & dont get no hick to mail
them, for the poor boob dropped the
hole 14 in the letter box the next
day and i got them all the 2nd day
you was gone
maybe they can patch it up, the
lawyer feller said, but if they do, that 1
The Pretty Boy
Ah, now; Isn't it cute, Tlmotjiy?
I don't know whether to tip my
hat or throw it a kiss.
You'd better not do either, Harold,
there may be one of those women
cops around an pinch you for flirt
ing. You know, Mike! This is one of
those feather nobs, the pretty boy,
.whoSin love with himself. The kind
that can't pass up a gum slot with
out looking in the mirror to see if
his tie is crooked or if his eyebrows
are mussed up.
In other words, he's a mirror leach.
He has a stock of different poses that
he thinks are lady killers. He carries
a memorandum book stuffed full of
frails-' names, addresses and tele
phone numbers. Oh! he's some dog.
He thinks every girl he meets ought
to go daffy over him. They must be
if they do, huh, George?
When some bird smiles at him he's
so conceited he imagines it's quite
natural, but maybe the girl is doing
her best to keep from busting out
HAW! HAWING! at it, huh, Clarence.
Why are they just killing off the
NEVER THAT WAQ
"Darling, do you love me still?"
"You have never given me th
chance to find out, my dear."