Part 2

I met a wonderful girl yesterday afternoon, and she invited me up to her apartment. That night she told me to stand in front of the door and whistle three times and she would throw down the key.

Boys, I never saw so many keys in all my life.

* * * * *

I could print a lot of real funny stories, but what’s the use, you would only laugh at them.

_Questions and Answers_

=_Dear Capt. Billy_=—What is the first thing that turns green in the spring?—=_Uppan Attim_=.

Christmas jewelry.

* * * * *

=_Dear Captun_=: My kid brother’s a great chicken chaser. He came home late last night all dizzy; d’you think he was drinkin’ or what’s the matter?—=_Ida Sinkey_=.

‘Swimmin’ in the head.

* * * * *

=_Dear Whiz Bang Bill_=—Is there much food values in dates?—=_Ona Dyett_=.

It all depends on who you make them with.

* * * * *

=_Dear Captain_=—What is a Sly Oodle?—=_Nat. U. List_=.

’Tis a small weasel that sleeps in the crotch of a tree, and swallows its nose to keep it from freezing.

* * * * *

=_Dear Capt. Billy_=—A fellow asked me a funny question the other day. Why is a crow? Seems sort of silly. Do you know the answer?—=_M. T. Kann_=.

That’s easy. Caws.

* * * * *

=_Dear Captain Billy_=—What is a Nabisco?—=_Ray Vaughan_=.

It consists of two pieces of tissue paper with a little honey between.

* * * * *

=_Dear Captain Billy_=—Would it hurt me to sleep between two windows?—=_I. Foozle_=.

You would have a “pane” on the chest and back, and a “catch” on your side.

* * * * *

=_Dear Capt. Billy_=—What is a good name for a new college sorority?—=_Al E. Wrat_=.

I. Phelta Thi.

* * * * *

=_Dear Capt. Billy_=—What is a sculptor?—=_Cant E. Lope_=.

A man that makes faces and busts.

* * * * *

=_Dear Capt. Billy_=—What is dust?—=_Hose Ette_=.

Mud with the juice squeezed out.

* * * * *

=_Dear Capt. Billy_=—Is hair tonic a good drink?—=_J. Fewbrains_=.

Would advise you not to drink hair tonic as it will raise a mustache on your appendix and if you should laugh you would tickle yourself to death.

* * * * *

=_Dear Farmer Bill_=—Please inform me where milk comes from.—=_A City Girl_=.

From cow faucets.

* * * * *

=_Dear Capt. Billy_=—If my father was a duke and my mother was a duchess, what would that make me?—=_Watts D. Yoos_=.

Why, I guess you would be Duke’s Mixture.

* * * * *

=_Dear Captain_=—Tell me something interesting about auction bridge.—=_Adeline Moore_=.

All we know about is Brooklyn Bridge, and that is just one long suspense.

* * * * *

=_Dear Capn._=—What did my beau mean when he told me he would meet me in the future?—=_Sarah Desert_=.

Probably he meant in the pasture.

* * * * *

=_Dear Capt. Billy_=—What is a drydock?—=_Torchy_=.

A physician who won’t give us prescriptions.

* * * * *

The Farm That Bull Built

Oh! over the hill to Robbinsdale, For a slap on the back and a hearty hail. Where the cows do tricks in the new mown hay, And the Bull is thrown in a very quaint way.

Where Gus is tired from morn till night, And the old silo is always tight. Where the chickens sing and the roosters crow, And the corn does a hoe-down row on row.

So up the road to the Whiz Bang farm Where the onions grow but do no harm. It’s a merry crowd that slings the hoe On Billy’s farm. Come gang let’s go.

* * * * *

_They tell me people are so tough in South St. Paul they play Tiddly-Winks with the sewer covers. Zatright?_

* * * * *

Fable of a Poodle

Once there was a guy who wished that he was a rich woman’s lap-dog, when suddenly a Great Genii appeared before him and granted his wish, telling him that any time he wished to be changed back to a man, he should slip out of the rich lady’s house and come to the home of the Genii, in a distant part of the city.

Being only a dog, he soon grew tired of his pampered life, and since he was really a dog, the kisses and petting of his pretty mistress failed to produce the “kick” that he had anticipated.

So, he slipped out of the house, and found himself on a broad and spacious avenue, lined with trees, telegraph poles and iron fence posts.

Now, that was many moons ago, but up to the present writing, the little doggie has not reached the Genii’s house to be changed back to a man.

MORAL: It’s a poor wish that won’t work two ways.

* * * * *

French Proverbs

(Selected by Rev. G. L. Morrill.)

_Women give themselves to God when the Devil wants nothing more to do with them._

_Since Cupid is represented with a torch in his hand, why did they place virtue on a barrel of gunpowder?_

_A woman forgives everything but the fact that you do not covet her._

_Fools never understand people of wit._

* * * * *

Outside the Show

“Hello, Bill, how did you enjoy the show last night?”

“Fine, Joe. Wasn’t that some pippin in the bathing suit?”

“Yep, Bill!”

“Well, I saw her without the suit on today.”

!!!!!——————(street clothes?)

* * * * *

Familiarity Breeds Contempt

John Philip Sousa traveled six thousand miles to hear the celebrated chimes of an English church. As he was drawing near the place the wonderful chimes rang out, and enraptured, Sousa exclaimed to the driver of the vehicle, “You folk are indeed fortunate to live within sound of those heavenly chimes.”

“I can’t hear a word you say,” shouted the driver irritably, “them d—— bells deafen me.”

* * * * *

As You Were

Sexton—“Dogs are not allowed here, sir.”

Visitor—“That’s not my dog.”

Sexton—“Not your dog? Why, he’s following you.”

Visitor—“Well, so are you.”

* * * * *

We Pull Lots of These

A cross-eyed man at a dance hall said “May I have the next dance, please?” Two girls answered as with one voice, “With pleasure.”

* * * * *

That Reminds Me

Algernon—Dearest, I could sit here forever gazing into your charming eyes and listening to the wash of the ocean.

The Girl—That reminds me, Honey. I have a laundry bill and I’m dead broke.

* * * * *

There’s one thing I can’t eat for breakfast and that is supper.

* * * * *

While a darky was being led to the gallows a crowd of people ran past him.

“What yo all running fo?” yelled Sambo after them, “Dey ain’t nothin’ gwine to happen till ah gets dere.”

* * * * *

He is so stingy he goes to the postoffice to fill his fountain pen.

* * * * *

April Fool

Johnny (running into the room of his mother on April 1st)—“Mama, there’s a strange man kissing our maid.”

Mother—“What, a strange man?”

Johnny—“April fool, it’s only papa.”

* * * * *

Curbstone Comedy

He stopped the balky car.

“Honey, I must get out and spank the engine over the ears.”

“Oh, engine-ears!”

* * * * *

We Pass

The nurse at the front regarded the wounded soldier with a puzzled look.

“Your face is familiar to me, but I can’t place you,” she said.

“Let bygones be bygones, baby,” replied the soldier, “I used to be a policeman.”

* * * * *

Riddle-de-doot!

Where did you get that rose?

That isn’t a rose, that’s a geranium.

No, it isn’t. It’s a rose.

I said it’s a geranium.

How do you spell it?

It’s a rose all right.

* * * * *

_My girl has Pullman teeth._

_One upper and one lower._

* * * * *

Colorado Springs is sure some town. Had to go up to the city hall to get a permit from the mayor to play a game of dominoes.

* * * * *

This wash board is a hundred years old.

Yes, it surely is wrinkled.

* * * * *

Punctuation

“Men are naturally grammatical.”

“Yes?”

“When they see an abbreviated skirt they always look after it for a period.”

* * * * *

Chalk Up One Error

Chicago.—Mrs. R. Kelly sat watching a thrilling movie. Without taking her eyes off the film, she landed an uppercut on the jaw of the man sitting next to her. “I must have made a mistake,” Jake Cohen told the judge. “I didn’t know I put my hand on her knee!”

* * * * *

Remember This One?

The first scene is that of a gambler, Who has lost all his money at play; Takes his dead mother’s ring from her finger Which she wore on her wedding day, His last earthly treasure he stakes it Bows his head the shame he may hide. When they raised up his head, They found he was dead ’Tis a picture from life’s other side.

* * * * *

“Say, Mr. Jones, what do you want to get married for?”

“Because I don’t want my name to die out.”

* * * * *

“You don’t love me any more,” She sobbed and bowed her head. “What tuhel’s the difference,” The villainous rascal said.

* * * * *

A cat, mistaking a ball of wool for a meat ball, swallowed it, and sure enough when she had kittens they had on sweaters.

* * * * *

Child’s is a great place to eat. Went in there yesterday and amongst the dirty dishes on the table I found thirty cents.

_Movie Hot Stuff_

These be dull days in the movie and even the stage world. The dark clouds of the Arbuckle case still hang over the two “arts,” thanks to the obdurate lady juror who caused a disagreement in the San Francisco trial. The pleasantly informal old days, when Wallie Reid could run up to ’Frisco and pelt eggs upon pedestrians from the fourteenth floor of the St. Francis Hotel, are long past. One simply =_has_= to be circumspect these days.

After Whiz Bang’s comments upon the way the New York stage was getting away with salaciousness came a police investigation of “The Demi-Virgin,” the gentle whimsy with the strip poker game. The farce was severely condemned by the police commissioner—but it is still running and to crowded houses. The risque plays have had one or two additions since we wrote last.

For instance, there’s David Belasco’s adaptation of the French farce, “Kiki,” with a little gutter gamin of the French music hall as its heroine. Mr. Belasco has substituted the word marriage for liaison throughout but the intent is there—and the lines, oh, boy! Once Kiki remarks “The men are like cats—they follows us as though our veins were full of catnip!” Then there is a whole act in which Kiki—posing as a rigid somnambulist—is carried and tossed about by the various members of the cast, all the time dressed only in a simple pair of open work pajamas.

We aren’t intimating that “Kiki” isn’t entertaining. It is. But, the latitude they get away with! Meanwhile the censors go on cutting out bathing girls from our films and making sure there is no indication ever shown that babies are born.

* * * * *

Charlie Ray, spats, cane, trick overcoat with its fur collar, et al., has been making his first visit to New York and not creating a ripple of interest. Of course, friend wife was along. We saw Ray strolling up Fifth Avenue the other day—and nobody knew the ornate pedestrian as the simple country boy of the films. They tell me that Ray takes himself very seriously and left the cynical New York reporters dizzy with his confessions about his “mission in life.”

* * * * *

Jack Pickford continues to loiter about New York. There are all sorts of rumors linking Jack up with pretty Marilyn Miller o’ the Follies. Marilyn lost her husband, Frank Carter, in an auto accident some time ago and is as pleasant a little widow as the White Lights possess. Maybe Marilyn has an eye towards the screen. By the way, those reports of an impending family event in the Fairbanks family still persists. What could be nicer?

* * * * *

Poor Eric von Stroheim! We sympathize with him despite his Junker physiognomy. He is telling sad tales of his treatment at the hands of Universal. After finishing “Foolish Wives,” they took the negative away from him, hired somebody or other to cut it—and Eric came on to New York to find out where he stood.

At last reports he is still trying to find out. Overheard him in a hotel recently telling his troubles. Now and then a tear splashed in the soup. You see, they have taken his brain child—his masterpiece—away and are letting some cruel inartistic outsider cut it any old way. It seems that Carl Laemmle, prexy of Universal, became irate over the way “Foolish Wives” cost money and never seemed to finish. Eric says they put all sorts of obstructions in his way. They locked cutting room doors, held up his pet plans, and all that, according to Eric. Finally—whisper, for it may only be a pipe dream—Eric organized and armed his army of extras after the fashion of Mr. William Hohenzollern and presented an ultimatum. He got what he wanted. Pause to consider the news story that nearly came out of Universal. Suppose Eric had cut the communication wires, tried military gas on the officials and made the studio into an armed camp. It sounds fishy, of course, but have you ever met the tense Mr. Von Stroheim?

At that we feel awfully sorry for him. He =_has_= unusual directorial ability and he is—or was—the one able person at Universal. And now, after making “Foolish Wives,” which, if it doesn’t get barred by the censors, ought to be a whirlwind, he seems to be getting the gate.

* * * * *

Aren’t those morality clauses the high minded movie producers are inserting into their actor contracts the bunk? Imagine the nerve. Will Rogers gave the best summary when he declared, “Say, if any one hands me a contract with one of them clauses, I’ll say, you sign it first.” He is in New York doing a turn on the Ziegfeld roof. The best line of his act is: “I’m the only guy who ever went to California and came back with the same wife.”

* * * * *

One of the funniest kick backs from the Arbuckle case occurred at Vitagraph, where they had Maclyn Arbuckle (no relation to Fatty), under contract to be co-starred in “The Prodigal Judge,” which he had played for years on the stage. Just as the picture was completed, a little San Francisco scandal broke. Vitagraph decided that it couldn’t afford to feature Mr. Maclyn =_Arbuckle_= at this time. This despite the fact that Mr. Maclyn was a well known star before Fatty was ever heard of. But luckily he had a sense of humor. So he said, “Oh, well (maybe it wasn’t exactly that), you can’t buck such reasoning,” and let his name go into tiny type.

* * * * *

Very Well

I said she’d made with me a hit— Very well. Perhaps I was a trifle lit— Very well. I told her that she was divine, She let me hold her hand in mine, In short—I handed out my line Very well.

I whispered softly in her ear, Very well. ’Twas, how appropriately! dear— Very well. I drew her snugly to my breast, While she, not daring to protest Cleaned out the pockets of my vest. Very well.

* * * * *

A Tough Steak

Cannibal No. 1—What makes the chief such a bunk spreader?

Cannibal No. 2—He just ate the editor of Whiz Bang.

* * * * *

Nah, Nah!

“Is my wife forward?” asked the passenger on the Limited.

“She wasn’t to me sir,” answered the conductor politely.

_Whiz Bang Editorials_

“_The Bull is Mightier Than the Bullet._”

Hats off to a real man of the cloth. The Rev. D. H. Jones has resigned the pulpit of Huntington Park, California, Baptist Church, because of the fanatical attempts of his flock to enforce Sunday closing.

“I prefer to dwell with the worldling and be true to my inner self than to live with the saint and betray it,” Reverend Jones says.

“There is a way to make the church the super-attraction; but it will never be done by coercing the consciences of men. The Cross of Christ is proving to be the greatest magnet in the world, but use it as a club, and it will become a colossal failure.”

“Killed professionally, yes. But, frankly, I would rather be a man than a minister. Character is greater than profession.”

“I would just as soon believe that the perfume of the rose comes from the polecat as to believe that the spirit of the blue laws comes from God.”

“Christ whipped men out of the church, but never into it. ‘Professional reformers’ and ‘Christian lobbyists’ at Washington may mean well, but most of them are misguided swivel-chair heroes of the Cross.”

“‘Close every door except the church’s,’ cries the reformer, forgetting that open hearts are greater inducements than closed doors.”

“The doctrine behind the blue laws is this: ‘I am in the right and you are in the wrong. When you are stronger than I, you ought to tolerate; for it is your duty to tolerate truth. But when I am the stronger, I shall persecute you; for it is my duty to persecute error.’”

“All the proposed Sunday legislation is simply a human attempt to whitewash what God designed to wash white. To condemn movies because some things may be objectionable is like refusing to eat fish because it contains bones.”

“When human passion is subdued, when the turbulent tide ebbs, we see that the big thing that lies at the bottom of the opposition of theatre opening on Sunday, is simply bigotry.”

“It is a wonder to me how many bad things good people see in the movies; fortunately, if you are so disposed, you need never be disappointed. The product of a legal religion has ever been and ever will be either hypocrisy or persecution.”

* * * * *

A little white coffin rested on a small table, covered with flowers white as the waxen face and fair hair of the baby child whose short life of thirteen months’ suffering was ended.

A small company of kind neighbors was present. The clergyman repeated the Saviour’s words, “Suffer the children to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven,” and told how the little life had not paid in dollars and cents, but that judged by an immortal existence begun here, and to last forever, Death was gain. After the father, sisters and brothers said “Good-bye,” the mother took the last farewell kiss of her baby and baptized it anew with her hot falling tears. So small was the casket that the undertaker lifted it in his arms, just as the mother had the sick child, and carried it to the carriage and placed it on the seat.

We entered the beautiful green cemetery, and lowered the little flower-decked coffin in the grave to rest until God’s “Good morning” in the graveless, griefless home of heaven. As I looked back, the mound seemed so small that a child could step over it in his play, but I knew it was higher than a mountain top to the mother because in it was buried all her love and hope.

So we left the little casket and the little body in the little grave, feeling that this bud of promise would be transplanted to the Eternal Garden where the full flower would blossom and bloom without decay.

* * * * *

The Detroit Free-Press calls it the “Snoopers’ Brigade,” and we are inclined to think that is a well-fitting title for the aggregation of people who are urging the formation of a society that would compel all men to be spies upon neighbors and reporters upon their actions.

Sometime ago a federal prohibition commissioner announced plans for such an association, but he immediately discovered that the people of the United States are not ready to become investigators of their neighbors’ conduct, in any particular, and the project was squelched by higher authority.

The courts of the country are, very generally, excluding testimony obtained by men who lead others into the commission of crime, and properly; they regard such actions as a conspiracy to break the law, which makes the tempter a partner in the crime.

In a Mississippi case, where it appeared that a peace officer induced a man to purchase liquor for him and then arrested the man who succumbed to his blandishments, the judge ordered the accused discharged and the officer held. The official was subsequently convicted of his part in the crime, and the supreme court sustained the verdict against him.

There is a very general misapprehension on this subject and acts of the officials have been winked at because the public really did not know what was going on and did not realize the extent of the practice indulged in by what are very generally called stool pigeons.

The laws of this or any other state may be enforced without making all the people detectives, as the Snoopers’ League would have them, or without permitting the practice of certain classes of officials, who sometimes literally hire men to commit a crime, in order that that very crime may be suppressed.

* * * * *

_Where did I get my education? Why, me dad used to take me over his knee. He made me smart._

* * * * *

Bully for the Chicago Tribune. That journal slips the prong into Bluenose Crafts in a recent issue:

It is beginning to appear that the movement led by Mr. Crafts is as bigoted and as savage in its purpose as those which we thought were buried in the semi-barbarous past. It must be held that no human uplift but maniacal desire to inflict physical punishment is the motive. Mr. Crafts and his followers wish to put as many of their fellow countrymen as possible in jail, and they are trying to wreck this republic in order to do so.

* * * * *

Farmyard Notes

Chickens get tough when they run around too much.

* * * * *

Be it ever so humble, there’s no flower like the cauli.

* * * * *

A bird in the oven is worth two in the bush and a berry in the bush is not worth two in the hand.

* * * * *

_I wish I was cross-eyed, then I could stand on a windy day and gaze at a lady wearing a short skirt, right in the eye and still have a guilty conscience._

* * * * *

Cellar Ancestry

The potatoes eyes were full of tears, And the cabbage hung its head, For there was grief in the cellar that nite, For the vinegar’s mother was dead.

* * * * *

_You can lead a cow to water but the Bull—he must be herd._

* * * * *

As It Is In New York