Part 3

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, The herdsman who limbed with his goats to the steep, The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, Have faded away like the grass that we tread.

So the multitude goes like the flower or the weed, That withers away to let others succeed; So the multitude comes even those we behold, To repeat every tale that has often been told.

For we are the same our fathers have been: We see the same sights our fathers have seen— We drink the same stream and view the same sun, And run the same course our fathers have run.

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think; From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink; To the life we are clinging they also would cling, But it speeds from us all like a bird on the wing.

They loved, but the story we cannot unfold; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; They grieved, but no wail from their slumber shall come; They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.

They died!—ay; they died, we things that are now, That walk on the turf that lies over their brow, And make in their dwellings a transient abode; Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.

Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, We mingle together in sunshine and rain; And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge, Still follow each other like surge upon surge.

’Tis the wink of an eye, ’tis the draught of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon, the bier and the shroud; Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

* * * * *

Just Thinking

By Hudson Hawley.

(In the Stars and Stripes.)

Standin’ up here on the fire-step Lookin’ ahead in the mist, With a tin hat over your ivory And a rifle clutched in your fist; Waitin’ and watchin’ and wond’rin’ If the Huns comin’ over tonight— Say, aren’t the things you think of, Enough to give you a fright?

Things you ain’t even thought of For a couple o’ months or more; Things that ’ull set you laughin’; Things that ’ull make you sore; Things that you saw in the movies, Things that you saw on the street, Things that you’re really proud of, Things that are—not so sweet.

Debts that are past collection, Stories you hear and forget, Ball games and birthday parties, Hours of drill in the wet; Headlines, recruitin’ posters, Sunsets way out at sea, Evenings of pay days—golly— It’s a queer thing, this memory!

Faces of pals in the home burg, Voices of women folk, Verses you learned in school days, Pop up in the mist and smoke, As you stand there grippin’ that rifle, A standin’ and chilled to the bone, Wonderin’ and wonderin’ and wonderin,’ Just thinkin’ there—all alone!

When will the war be over? When will the gang break through? What will the U. S. look like? What will there be to do? Where will the Boshes be then? Who will have married Nell? When’s that relief a-comin’ up? Gosh! But this thinkin’s hell!

* * * * *

Gee Whiz

By Dorothy.

Dream girl with your raven hair Eyes of brown and dimples too Can’t you find one day to spare That I may elope with you?

Too many ginks are on your hooks You trifle right and left They toddle round with hungry looks Poor nuts they’re all bereft.

Dream girl get your cigarettes And I’ll produce the booze, Put the brake on vain regrets And let us burn the fuse.

Hire a hall or buy a yacht It’s all the same, Oh! gee But give me everything you’ve got It’s coming straight to ME.

Dream girl with your raven hair Come cuddle up and tease Love me, bite me like a bear, Then kiss me—naughty—please.

Make it today and don’t postpone Don’t make your sweetie pout, Dear heart I’m sitting all alone For the darned old booze gave out.

* * * * *

The Land of Gee and Haw

By Ted Lattourette Hansford.

I have a home I’m not ashamed of, In the land of Gee and Haw, Where Jeff Davis found a pile of rocks And called it Arkansaw.

And I am going back to Flatrock, Where the cornfed people stay, And they make a little moonshine Just to pass the time away.

I can see old Hank and Silas, A firing up the drum To run a drink that’s guaranteed To put sorrow on the bum.

It glistens like the dewdrops, At the dawn of early morn, And you can smell the boys’ feet That plowed the yaller corn.

It fills your heart with gratitude, And keeps you feeling fine, Like everybody was owin’ you And you didn’t need a dime.

’Tis the land where satisfaction, Peace, love and feuds reside, And the farms they sit up edgeways; You can farm on either side.

Where they dance from dark till daylight, Calling swing, and balance all; With the fiddler full o’ pine top, Playing Turkey in The Straw.

When you read these lines, yours truly Will be there for evermore, Wading through the moonshine, Singing Sailor on The Shore.

And my address, should you want me, Will be Flatrock, Arkansaw; Care o’ Wildcat Hiram Johnson, In the Land of Gee and Haw.

* * * * *

Ten Years on the Islands

Ten years on the Islands, And you’re mad; Not a spark of decency— Oh! it’s sad; Can’t recall one sober day, That you’ve had; You’ve let the tropics get you, And you’re bad.

Ten years on the Islands, And you fell, Hardly conscious of surrender, To the spell; You’re eaten up with leprosy, Traders tell, You’re a comber of the beaches— Gone to hell.

Ten years on the Islands, It’s too long, To preserve one’s sense of right, And of wrong, The tropic’s spell is gentle, But it’s strong, It feeds the soul on lotus, Till it’s gone.

* * * * *

Spoiled Girl

When you are awfully cross to me I pout, and pout, and pout, My lip goes down, my eyes get big And then my tears come out.

When you are awfully good to me I smile, and smile, and smile, So if you like sun more than rain Try being good awhile.

* * * * *

Great Gawsch!

“Hang it all, daughter,” exploded old Jenkins. “You can’t marry young Dobbins, I won’t have it. Why he only makes eighteen dollars a week.”

“I know father,” replied the sweet young thing, “but a week passes so quickly when you are fond of each other.”

* * * * *

Hot Dog!

It doesn’t extinguish the conflagration in a man’s burning brain when a pretty girl turns her hose on him.

* * * * *

How to Get Tips

Smith Dalrymple tells this one: When I was in Bartlesville I went into a lady barber shop to get shaved. That was the first female joint I ever saw. When I went in the barber was sitting on a fellow’s lap.

She jumped up and said, “You’re next.”

I said, “I know it and I know who I am next to.”

She said, “Do you want a close shave?”

I said, “No, I just had one, my wife passed the window and didn’t look in.”

I gave her a quarter, she handed me back ten cents and before I thought where I was I said, “Put it in the piano.”

* * * * *

Those Flivvers Again

We heard a couple talking in the rear of a machine ahead of us. The man sighed, “Oh, dearest, you never have acted this way before. Always you have been cold towards me and now you’re—”

So I put on my brakes and pulled my radiator away from the back of their machine.

* * * * *

Someone’s Inhaling Ether

(From the Chicago Tribune)

“She had those wide blue eyes whose expression can be misleading in their infantile pathos; hair fine and shining like gossamer gold; a complexion firm and white, with the barest breath of rose leaf pink on the cheek bones, and the whole of her was small, neat, rounded.”

* * * * *

Just Like the Army

The prosy old parson was coming and his hostess carefully drilled her daughter to answer the string of questions he always asked every little girl: (1) “What is your name?” (2) “How old are you?” (3) “Are you a good little girl?” (4) “Do you know where bad little girls go?”

But the little girl was overtrained and when the reverend visitor began by asking her her name, she spilled all the answers at once in a single breath.

“Dorothy, sir; six years old, sir; yes, sir; go to hell, sir.”

* * * * *

Blank Verse

Dear Captain Billy, I am full of regrets, Because the other night I set out to find the gold At the end of the rainbow. And all that I saw was “The Gold Diggers.” Ain’t that always the way In Boston?

* * * * *

Sneeze Hearty

“I rise to propose a little toast,” announced the president of the Hay Fever Club.

“What is it?”

“Here’s looking at—choo!”

_Hollywood Flirtations_

It is rumored around filmland that handsome (?) “Bull” Montana is shortly to be married. Doug Fairbanks, in lowbrow days before he married Mary, used to pal around with “Bull” and other ringside favorites, but ’tis said Mary ruled against Bull as being “declasse.”

* * * * *

It will be remembered that Viola Dana was a very close friend of Orma Locklear, the famous aviator, who was killed about a year ago. A few months later, she was often seen with Earl Daugherty, also a well known aviator, who maintains one of the finest flying fields in Southern California. Now Earl and Viola are never seen together. What happened, Viola?

* * * * *

’Tis said on “Elinor Glyn Night” at the Ambassador Cocoanut Grove, our visiting English authoress ate her entire supper without once removing her long white gloves. Those were “great moments” when the olives, corn and asparagus came on! Elinor was again accompanied by that tall, youngish actor, Dana Todd. Hollywood has been undergoing mental confusion all summer as to whether Dana was in love with Gloria Swanson or Elinor or merely a protege protector of both ladies when they took their evenings out.

* * * * *

Lois Wilson, Lasky star, has a brand new Chicago millionaire beau who seems to be quite serious in his intentions. Mildred Harris, who has also been playing over at the Lasky lot of late, is favoring a millionaire of brunette hue.

* * * * *

Mabel Normand went off on a farm in Vermont last winter and drank milk until she could again ask her friends how one could lose weight. Just now, a distinguished looking gentleman with gray hair is trotting Mabel about to the dance emporiums.

* * * * *

Bessie Love is often seen at the cafes, but almost always with “mama.” Lost your hunting license, Bessie?

* * * * *

The other evening when Clara Kimball Young stepped out with Harry Garson wearing a whole photoplay worth of ermine and diamonds, a very embarrassing thing happened. They danced of course, but in one of those floor jams, Clara suddenly found her lovely head parked on the shoulder of her ex-spouse, Jimmy Young. Gallant to the end, Jimmy appeared not to notice—but when the next dance began, Jimmy sat it out with his partner at one end of the ball-room while Clara feigned weariness at the other end!

* * * * *

Ruth Renick, film star, is in love with an unknown hero. While horseback riding the other day, she hurt her ankle and went into a drug store for aid. Then she grew faint and fell right over into the arms of a handsome stranger. He vanished when she woke up and that ends the story. Ruth and “we all” are hoping for developments.

* * * * *

Roy Stewart has been riding horseback of late with Miss Stanley Partridge, a young Los Angeles society girl.

* * * * *

Walter Morosco and Betty Compson are often seen stepping about together.

* * * * *

Yes, we admit that this item should have headline position. ’Tis true that Mr. and Mrs. Wallace MacDonald (Doris May), took a second-run honeymoon over at Catalina.

* * * * *

Bill Desmond and his own wife, Mary McIvor, often step out together and dance together all evening—because they like it. This same state of affairs exists with the Wesley Ruggles and Conrad Nagles as well as in the Bryant Washburn household.

* * * * *

Evelyn Nesbit, formerly Mrs. Harry K. Thaw, recently caused the arrest of four men on charges of disorderly conduct. She complained they entered the hallway outside of her apartment and that one seized her by the shoulders and made an insulting remark. The complainant said she knew none of the men. At the station house Miss Nesbit said that the men fled in a taxicab when she ran to the street yelling “fire” and calling for the police. The quartet returned later and encountered two policemen.

* * * * *

Can We Forgive Him?

The London Post reports the following—

There was fighting in the fo’c’sle; and the aggressor, a hard-faced, hard-fisted sailor man from Rotherhithe, was called upon to explain.

“That square-headed Swede miscalled me,” he bellowed. “He said I was an Irishman, and I’m not. Me mother was a good Mexican lady and me father was two marines from Chatham!”

The explanation cordially accepted.

* * * * *

Pithole Filosophy

One time I got mad at a sassy kid; I said, “There is enough brass in your face to make a large kettle.”

He said “Yes, and there’s enough sap in your head to fill it.”

* * * * *

The Wails of a Wolstead Wictim

Oh to spend “jack” like a Jackass; to have the “hips” of a hippo; the neck of a giraffe; the thirst of a camel and the “jag” of a jaguar.

* * * * *

Giving Him Fair Warning

She—“What are you thinking about?”

He—“Just what you’re thinking about.”

She—“If you do, I’ll scream.”—Phoenix.

* * * * *

The Way of a Lad With a Lass

He—“Hu-nnnh?”

She—“Nu’unnnh.”

He—“Please.”

She—“I told you NO!”

He—“Hu’nnnnnnh?”

She—“Nu’unnnnnnh.”

He—“Huu’n n n n n nh?”

She—“Nu—Unnnnnnn’huh.”

Smack!

* * * * *

Modern Literature

She nestled against the two strong arms that held her. She pressed her flushed cheek against the smooth skin-so near-so tan-so glowing.

“How handsome!” she cried, her eyes noting the fine straight back, the sturdy, well-shaped legs.

“How handsome!” she repeated. “I adore a leather upholstered chair.”

* * * * *

Flapper Blues

Ain’t no use of living, nothing gained, Ain’t no use of eating just pain, Ain’t no use of kissing he’ll tell, Ain’t no use of nothing, Oh, well.

* * * * *

Djever Hear This One?

An Englishman bragged that he was once mistaken for Lloyd George. The American boasted that he had been taken for President Wilson.

Paddy said he had them all beat.

“A fellow walked up to me and tapped me on the shoulder and said ‘Great God, is that you?’”

* * * * *

Pink Pills for Pale People

Lydia Pinkham recently received a love letter from the vegetable compound magnate reading as follows, our correspondents report:

“Do you carrot all for me? My bleeding heart beets for you. My love is as soft as a squash, but as strong as an onion. You are a peach with your radish hair and turnip nose. Your cherry lips and forget-me-not eyes call me. You are the apple of my eye, and if we canteloupe lettuce marry for I am sure we would make a happy pear.”

* * * * *

Lovely Calves We’re Having!

“Oh see the darling little cow-lets!”

“Miss, those are not cow-lets, they’re bull-ets.”

Pasture Pot Pourri

The other day a stranger walked up and asked me if I was a doctor. I informed him that I wasn’t, but that I thought I knew where he could get some.

* * * * *

Some women get red in the face from modesty, some from anger, and some from the druggist.

* * * * *

Pour Her Back Into the Ocean

She wiggled, she waddled, She leapt and she toddled; She shivered, she quivered, she shook. She rippled, she trippled, She sprang and she skippled— Her dance was “The Song of the Brook.”

* * * * *

The Song of a Sailor

“_There’s just one Gal in Galveston, but there’s More in Baltimore._”

* * * * *

I went into a restaurant. I said, “Have you got anything fit for a hog to eat?”

He said, “Yes, what do you want?”

* * * * *

When a married man gets his hair cut, his wife loses her strongest hold on him.

* * * * *

The barber has a scraping acquaintance with a great many people.

* * * * *

Essence of Sweet Peas

“The mean old thing wouldn’t lettuce.”

“Can we take a little spin-ach?”

“No, I’ll see my car-rot first.”

* * * * *

There is something mysteriously attractive about all mysteries—except hash.

* * * * *

_A request has come from a Philadelphia reader that all our jokes be written on tissue paper so that he can see through them._

* * * * *

May Have Better Luck

(From Sedalia Correspondence of Rogers Democrat)

Mrs. Albert Evans didn’t have good luck with her incubator. She had only thirty little chicks, but she is undaunted and she is setting again.

* * * * *

Mary wears her new short skirt, Cut just about in half; Who cares a slam ’bout Mary’s lamb, Now we can see her calf?

* * * * *

The woman with a past is always glad to see a man with a present.

* * * * *

The Latest Song “Hit”

By A. Balland Batt.

“When the Baseball season starts, Sweetheart, I’ll be running home to you.”

* * * * *

_Miss Marrietta Nutt will now render the latest “catch”. “The toy shop business is booming since they show their Teddy bears.”_

* * * * *

We Expect a Free Can For This!

_I saw a girl the other day who was so bashful she asked for a lady clerk when she wanted to buy some Arbuckle’s coffee._

* * * * *

The Happy Ham

_All smokers are inveterate;_ _Their vice becomes inured,_ _Only a ham can smoke and smoke,_ _And smoking still be cured._

* * * * *

I kicked a mongrel cur, He uttered a mournful wail. Where did I kick him, Sir? Ah! Thereby hangs a tail.

* * * * *

_The most disgusting sight in the world is to see another fellow in an automobile with your best girl._

* * * * *

The old inhabitant says, “I kin remember when a young lady passed you, you always could hear the rustle of stiffly starched skirts.”

* * * * *

Naughty Egg

I wish I was a crow’s egg As bad as bad can be, All cuddled up in a little nest Way up in a big tree. And when a grinning little boy Looked up at me in glee, I’d bust my naughty little self And sprinkle him with me.

* * * * *

The Diamond Queen

Now on one hand she has an immense fortune and on the other hand she has warts.

* * * * *

When a girl casts her bread upon the waters, she expects it to come back in the shape of a wedding cake.

* * * * *

_One of the season’s popular football rooters’ song is that old familiar ballad “After the Ball.”_

* * * * *

The Hootch Hound’s Lament

It’s easy to stay two-thirds pickled all day, Get drunk and sleep out in the yard, But to put in a night without one drink in sight; It’s the getting back sober that’s hard.

* * * * *

Love is a hallucination that makes an otherwise sane man believe he can set up housekeeping on a gas stove and a canary bird.

* * * * *

St. Paul Blues

_When I’m dead bury me deep,_ _Bury me in the middle of St. Peter street;_ _Put my hands across my chest_ _And tell the girls I’ve gone to rest._

* * * * *

_“What a curve,” said the garter, as it came around the last stretch._

* * * * *

Many a girl who never had her ears pierced has frequently had them bored.

_Movie Hot Stuff_

Mrs. Juanita M. Cohen has filed a heart-balm suit for $50,000 against Jackie Saunders for the loss of the love and affection of J. Warde Cohen, her husband. Jackie affirms that Mr. Cohen has no love for his wife and that no pretty stranger can steal anything which doesn’t exist. Jackie and her lawyers cite several scenes that have taken place between the Cohens, all to prove that the little God Eros was not about. Rather a clever way to turn the matter about, Jackie!

* * * * *

At several recent parties and dinners attended by film stars and given since the Arbuckle affair has been disclosed, the picture people have not refused cocktails or wine offered by the host. The picture people have been drinking their cocktails with a bit of defiance as if to show the world that “there are plenty of us who can drink with moderation and do nothing to hurt our neighbor or disgrace the community.”

Before prohibition made such conditions imperative, all of us might have thought the party a bit too free and careless if drinks were served in hotel bedrooms and prelude parties to hotel dinners given on the upper floors. For those who still believe in the free rights of the individual, hotel bedroom drinking is the only kind allowed by law. Perhaps if the Arbuckle party had been allowed to order their drinks in a hotel lobby or tea-room, the tragedy of Miss Rappe’s death would never have occurred.

At any rate, let it be said that at two large dinner parties given since the Arbuckle affair, the film people drank with decorum and several Pasadena and Los Angeles millionaire society men were the ones laid out to “rest and recuperate!”

Another party planned to take place on a yacht equipped with “orchid and rose suites,” promising to border on the near dangerous, was declined by a number of prominent Hollywood stars. The party took place without the film folk, there being plenty of fast folk in the society set to attend who had no professional reputation to protect.

* * * * *

The divorce case of the Charles Kenyons developed into an Alphonse and Gaston affair. Charlie Kenyon is the author of the successful play “Kindling” and has written many photoplays for the Fox and Goldwyn studios at which he has been employed.

During the hotly contested divorce suit, both accused the other of desertion. Mrs. Kenyon testified that when her husband came home late at night and she upbraided him concerning the matter, he said he would have to live his own life and if he couldn’t live it there, he would have to go somewhere else. Therefore, Kenyon deserted.

Kenyon, on the other hand, said that his wife deserted him because her actions and treatment of him made going away the only possibly manly act. Quite a paradox for you isn’t it, Judge?

Mrs. Kenyon has previously divorced two husbands. It is said that Kenyon remained a bachelor several years while he waited for the present Mrs. Kenyon to free herself from her last husband and marry him.

* * * * *