The Washington herald., 1918-01-07

around . pine table. and they've got
q mug Of booze. Each fellows got a
schooner. and he's going to knock the
white layer on and lay that suds un-
der his belt. And there they've got a
few old greasy pennies or nickels and
they are going to play q pack OF
greasy cards to see who will lug home
the jackpot when they are through.
Here is bunch. my friends. Of high
rollers, down In some palatial home;
all Of them dressed decollete (that
means their collar around their waist)
and there they have a retinue of serv-
ants to wait on them and they are
hitting the booze. They are playing
bridge to see who will lug home the
cream pitcher. my friends, or the dia-
mond or . pair OF dancing pumps or
silk hose.
Ticket Punched by Devll.
Say. I fear that gang more than I
do this bunch. II that gang ever get
their clutches on my boy. that dirty
bunch will never get him. Here's
where they begin-here's where they
end. Here's where they matriculate-
here's where they graduate. Here's
where they head out of the yards
here's where the devil punches their
ticket on the last division this side OF
hell. That's the bunch!
why call ye me Lord. Lord?''
There seems to be no occasion for
brains in many of our society women.
oh, IL you can join gracefully in the
inaneties of a dinner you will pass
muster, but II you happen to be IA
miliar with anything that the real
men in this country are doing, and
happen to show familiarity with II,
you will be looked upon as a frightful
bore; they will wish that you were
out. Oh. some OF our women are self
ish, they are piggish. they are con-
tent, with comfortable living quarters.
good dinner, polo, bridge, auto, fine
clothes. box at the opera. They will
play bridge all night and all morn
ing; they win 60 TO a matinee In the
afternoon; they will hire taxi TO
I take them home and then borrow
| Is cents from the hired girl to start
the gas meter.
Oh. many of them are empty shells;
they are meaningless, accomplish
nothing. The horizon OF their lives
seems to be bounded by visions and
dreams Of booze and of flesh-pots.
Like a fellow out in Iowa He was
the champion hot biscuit and buck
wheat pancake eater in the, country
hot hapjacks and sausage with a
little sage in Il would disappear down
his old esophagus like flies down the
throat of an alligator. One day. he
undertook the contrac. of disposing
OF a large slice Of old-fashioned, hick-
ory-cured ham and it scraped its re-
hellious way down his esphagus for
about two inches and II lodged as
tight as a bullet In a rusty gun and
he hove and hove. like a ship in a
storm but in wouldn't move. His old
eyes rolled like two buckeyes in a
bowl OF clabber but Il didn't move.
and his old trombone neck heightened
and shortened in turn but 1t didn't
bulge.
It's Gone, By Gosh!
He got up, careened across the
floor like a horse with the blind stag
gers. but II didn't bulge, sir, and then
his host said to him:
"Bnl, you get down on all fours'
and he went out and got a ciapboard
! Cthey used to shingle houses with
them when l was a boy) about that
wide and about that long made out
of hickory or oak. They'd stay on
for twenty or thirty years, and so he
went out and got an old-fashioned
hickory elapboard.
you get down on all fours and
when hit, you swaIler-"
And he wound himself up like a
golf player and he swung round and
he swatted Bill on both hemispheres.
He jumped up and he said: My
GOSH It's gone"
So you people are being choked to
death trying to gulp down the for
hidden things of the world. 1t may
take some of the good hard clap
board raps of the gospel to dislodge
it. but I have come as your friend to
help you and hope I might. lest Il
choke out every spark Of manhood
and womanhood in the world.
Many Of our young men will splut-
ter, splurge. spend their daddy's for
tune. engage in four hours CONVEX
sation and never utter a sensible SEN
tence, spend their money on fast wom-
en- and wine: haven't brains enough
to amuse and entertain a playful kit
ten; and many of our girls-oh, they
will f1irt and they will paint-if you
would kiss one of them you'd die of
painters collie. When a little sissy
comes in with dress six inches above
her shoe-tops a man can't look on
her with rig on like that and have
prayer-meeting thoughts. No sir!
FriIxIe-Hended sIssIes.
oh, the painted-faced, manicured-
finger-nailed, pencil-eyebrowed, fudge
eating, gum-chewing. rag-time sing
ing, little frizzle-headed sissies that
can't turn a flapjack without splatter-
ing the batter all over the kitchen
they will sit down at the piano and
sing, "Oh. does the spearmint lose
its favor on the bedpost over night?"
Now, listen to me a minute. Say,
I think that the fool mother who will
allow a 1s-year-old sissy-now you
hear me! think that a fool mother
that will allow a 16-year-olP sissy to
float around town and joyride and hit
the cabarets till o'clock in the morn
ing with a counterfeit sport with weak
jaws and weaker morals, puffy eyelids,
green vest, pair of spats on-oh, she's
opening the front door and inviting sin
and disgrace to cross her threshold.
II you don't know what kind of
company your daughter keeps or what
time of night she turns in and hits
the hay I want to tell you that your
roar when the tongues of gossip get
busy will sound about as pathetic as
a wheeze on a jewsharp.
And the fool girl who insists on
spooning with every marriageable
young fellow Of her set ought to be
backed into the woodshed and re-
heved Of her over-supply Of affection
with pair Of slippers laid on across
both hemispheres.
I'd rather that a daughter of mine
would kiss q blind hog through. a
barbed wire fence on Friday night.
the thirteenth of the month than to
change partners three nights a week