Chapter II: Part 2

_This appeal also will appear in the June Whiz Bang._

* * * * *

_So many calls have been received at the Whiz Bang Farm for back copies containing certain Smokehouse Poems that we’ve decided to put out a book containing many of the gems of past issues, as well as new red-blooded poems, to be ready for our readers early this fall. The book of Smokehouse Poetry will be in addition to our new Winter Annual—Follies of 1921-22, which will be ready for you in October with ALL NEW STUFF—jokes, jingles, stories, prose, poetry, pot pourri, advice to love-lorn and love-shorn, and, oh, we just hate to tell you of the many bright surprises._

_We’ve also had many calls for the works of Robert W. Service, which we must refer to the publishers, Barse & Hopkins, 21 Division Street, Newark, N. J._

* * * * *

Or Ever the Knightly Years Were Gone

By William Ernest Henley

Or ever the knightly years were gone,
With the old world to the grave,
I was a king in Babylon,
And you were a Christian slave.

I saw, I took, I cast you by,
I bent and broke your pride,
You loved me well, or I heard them lie,
But your longing was denied;
Surely I knew that by and by
You cursed your gods and died.

And a myriad suns have set and shone,
Since then upon the grave,
Decreed by the king in Babylon,
To her that had been his slave.

The pride I trampled is now my scathe,
For it tramples me again,
The old resentment lasts like death,
For you love, yet you refrain,
I break my heart on your hard unfaith,
And I break my heart in vain.

Yet not for an hour do I wish undone,
The dead beyond the grave,
When I was a king in Babylon,
And you were a Virgin slave.

* * * * *

Toledo Slim

_The Whiz Bang has received so many requests for “Toledo Slim” that we will herewith publish this virile poem of the underworld._

We were seated in a pool room on a cold December day,
Telling jokes and funny stories just to pass the time away;
When the door was softly opened and a form walked slowly in;
All the boys soon stopped their kidding when they saw Toledo Slim.
But a different man was he and they hardly knew the guy;
He no longer wore the glad rags he had worn in days gone by.
He took a look around him as he crept into the place.
And we saw a look of hunger on his dirty, grimy face.
“Hello, Slim, old pal!” said Boston Red; “you’re lookin’ on the pork;
Why, you used to be the swellest guy of any in New York.
Come, tell us, Slim, what happened that you are on the bum?”
The crowd then gathered ’round him and the story Slim begun.

’Tis true I’m on the bum, boys; I’m on the hog for fair.
But in the past I led them all, my roll was always there.
I never turned an old pal down, I spent my money free.
And all the sports along the line were glad to stick with me.
I was an all ’round hustler, I trimmed the birdies right.
I never shied at any game when greenbacks were in sight,
But one sad night I met my fate; I fell like many more,
That’s how I’m on the bum, boys, played out and feeling sore;
It happened just five years ago, if I remember right,
I trimmed a sucker for a roll and felt most out of sight.

I took a stroll along the line; “set up” for all the boys,
And just to pass the time away I dropped in Kid McCoy’s.
And while I sat there drinking, getting on a mighty stew,
A dead swell dame came in the place and sat beside me, too.
I asked her if she’d have a drink, she sweetly said she would,
And as I gazed into her eyes, I thought I understood.
Perhaps you’ll think me fickle, pals, but it isn’t any dream;
For when it comes to peachy looks that “Tommy” was the queen.

We “chewed the rag” for quite a while, I “shot the con” for fair,
(And when it comes to spreading salve, you may gamble I was there.)
I told her I would place her in a finely furnished flat,
And when the joint closed up that night I had my girlie pat.
Next day we saw the parson and paid a month’s rent down.
And then she went a hustling for work around the town.
She’d get up in the morning, go out and get the grub;
While I lay in my downy bed so humble and so snug.
But if the day proved gloomy, then in the house we’d stop.
She’d gather ’round the lay-out while I cooked the fragrant hop.
When winter drew around at last and things were going fine,
We had the swellest flat of any couple on the line.

One night I had a job to do, the richest home in town;
I got my tools and started out with my pal, Jackie Brown.
We never thought we’d get a blow, the thing looked like a pipe.
With all the folks a-sleeping and not a soul in sight,
We put the goods into a sheet and started down the block.
And just as luck would have it we bumped into a cop.
We dropped the swag quick as a flash and started on the run,
With the copper close behind us, a-shooting off his gun.
But we were fleet as greyhounds and were halfway down the street,
When a bullet hit me in the leg and I knew that I was beat.
The copper stopped to handcuff me while Jackie got away,
And I never saw his face again for many and many a day.

Well, boys, I know you’ll guess the rest; they made short work of me.
They sent me up the river to do my little “V.”
But still I did not worry; I thought my girl would stick
And keep the flat a-going while I did my little trick;
I never thought she’d turn me down in 40,000 years;
But when I think of what came off it almost brings the tears.

At last the long years passed away and one bright summer day
I started back to old New York so happy and so gay,
But when I reached my little flat I found my girl had flown—
She had run away with Jackie and left me all alone.
It was then I took to boozing and went from bad to worse;
I tried to drown my sorrow and forget the bitter curse,
But the memory of that pretty face was always on my mind,
So I searched the city over, but no trace of her could find.
I roamed the streets at leisure seeking vainly for my prey,
Looking for the man that ruined me and stole my girl away.
I swore that I’d have his life for the trick that he had done.

So I searched the country everywhere, knowing well my time would come.
One day I met a wise guy who knew my pal full well.
He said he was in ’Frisco and living mighty swell.
The girl had died in Denver of consumption, so he said,
Where my former pal had left her to starve from want of bread.
It happened at a time, boys, when I didn’t have a cent;
So I beat my way to Frisco with my mind on vengeance bent.

One foggy day on Market Street I met him sure as fate;
He tried to get the drop on me, but was a moment late.
I sent a bullet crashing into the traitor’s brain,
And then I made my getaway and “glommed” an eastbound train.
That’s all there is to tell, boys; I’m like the rest of bums,
I’ve lost all my ambition and don’t care what becomes—
And as he finished talking, from his hip he drew a gun.
In a moment came a sharp report—his grafting days were done.

* * * * *

The Midnight Glide of Pauline Revere

Listen, my children, and you shall hear,
Of the famous wife of Paul Revere;
While Paul flivvered out on his midnight ride,
Do you think she camped at the old fireside?
Emphatically no, but like the modern girl,
She busted right out for a shimmie whirl,
She parked where the lights were glowing bright,
To do a few steps of the “Hold-Me-Tight;”
She “copped” a partner, a boy from college,
Who just returned from a hall of knowledge,
With a bean chuck full of “mule” and school,
This “rah-rah” boy was a dancing fool;
They dangled a hoof and shook them all,
From the “Frontporch-Swing” to the “Downstairs-Fall,”
When the band started jazzing that song of repose
Of “Just Kiss Me, Doc, and Burn All My Clothes,”
They would clinch and grapple in vise-like embrace,
And he’d plant his “map” up the side of her face.
With his right “lunch-hook” her waist he’d entwine,
You’d almost think he was massaging her spine.
And thus clamped together they would trot and trip
And shake all the movements of the “Slovenly-Slip,”
The “Kitchen-Sink” and the “Box-Car-Bump,”
The “Cellar-Step” and the “Public-Dump,”
The “Old-Boardwalk” and the “Arctic-Shivver,”
The “Back-Yard-Dash” and the “St. Vitus Quiver,”
The “Old-Milk-Shake” and the “Slippery-Slide,”
The “Wormy-Wiggle” and the “Peruvian-Glide.”
The Moral is this, “When all’s done and said,
Why go to a dance, when you got music at home?”

—W. K. Edwards.

* * * * *

The Anxious Dead

_In the April issue, the Whiz Bang published the noted poem of Lt. Col. John McCrae, “In Flanders Field.” Here is his other masterpiece, “The Anxious Dead,” and also “America’s Answer,” by R. W. Lillard, and “Poppies,” by J. Eugene Chrisman._

By Lt.-Col. John McCrae

Oh guns, fall silent till the dead men hear
Above their heads the legions passing on;
Those fought their fight in time of bitter fear,
And died not knowing how the day had gone.

Oh flashing muzzle, pause and let them see,
The coming dawn that streaks the sky afar;
Then let your mighty chorus witness be
To them and Caesar, that we still make war.

Tell them, oh guns, that we have heard their call,
That we have sworn and will not turn aside,
That we will onward till we win or fall,
That we will keep the faith for which they died.

Bid them be patient, and some day, anon,
They shall feel earth enrapt in silence deep,
Shall greet, in wonderment, the quiet dawn,
And in content may turn them to their sleep.

* * * * *

America’s Answer

By R. W. Lillard

Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead.
The fight that ye so bravely led
We’ve taken up. And we will keep
True faith with you who lie asleep
With each a cross to mark his bed,
And poppies blowing overhead,
Where once his own life blood ran red.
So let your rest be sweet and deep
In Flanders fields.
Fear not that ye have died for naught.
The torch ye threw to us we caught.
Ten million hands will hold it high,
And Freedom’s light will never die!
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders fields.

* * * * *

Poppies

By J. Eugene Chrisman

Poppies?
Not for me, buddy!
Buds o’ Hell I’d call ’em,
Plain red hell—they—
They remind me——

And folks plant ’em around
Gardens—huh!
Says one old dame to me,
“Don’t they bring back,” says she,
“The poppied fields of Flanders?”
“Poppied fields of—” ain’t that a heluva—
But who wants ’em brung back—huh?
Say, buddy,
If she’d seen poppies
Like I’ve seen ’em—millions—acres—
Scattered through the wheat-fields,
Red—and gettin’ redder—mostly poppies—
Yeah—mostly!

Slim—my buddy—old scout
Slept under the same handkerchief,
Me ’n’ Slim—clean through from the word go!
I’m liable to forgit—ain’t I—
Day we kicked off west o’ Château-Thierry
Down the valley—
Poppies—say,
You couldn’t rest for poppies.
Then the Jerries cut loose
Machine-gun fire—reg’lar sickle.
Poppy leaves—bits o’ red
Flickin’ and flutterin’ in the wind,
Mowed ’em, buddy—and us—I’ll tell the world!
Got old Slim—got him right!
Down in the poppies he goes—kickin’—clawin’!
Don’t talk poppies to me—
Skunk cabbage first—=compree=?
If you’d seen old Slim—
Boy, he died =wallerin’= in poppies!
Poppies—
Hell!

* * * * *

Our Lonely Love-Sick Gob

_This poem was not written by Kipling, nor has it passed the scrutiny of our village schoolmaster, but what it lacks in rhetoric is made up in punch. “I made this up about a girl that turned me down over a shipmate of mine, and will thank you to publish it for the benefit of other love-sick gobs,” writes the author, a sailor at the Philadelphia naval station._

Now, listen shipmates, listen,
And I shall tell to you,
How once I met a girlie,
Just like other fellows do.

I loved her, yes, I loved her,
And I know she knew it well,
But I tipped her to a shipmate,
And he held her in his spell.

He enraptured her with stories,
And he said I was not true,
When next I met my loved one,
She said, “I’m through with you.”

I’ve told you all I know, boys,
Or all I care to tell,
So if you love a girlie, Gobs,
Have your shipmates go tu’ell.

* * * * *

Human Nature

Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
Peroxide makes the blonde grow blonder,
Onions make the breath grow stronger,
But Bunk makes the grass grow longer.

* * * * *

I love a lassie,
She’s skinny, but she’s classy,
She’s as neat as the paper on the wall;
She’s got a face like a dragon,
A shape like a horse and wagon,
She’s my lassie of the Scotch mask ball.

* * * * *

Soldier’s Prayer

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray Thee, please, my soul to keep,
Grant no other soldier take
My shoes and socks before I wake.

Try and guard me in my sleep,
And keep my bunk upon its feet,
And in the morning let me wake
Breathing whiffs of sirloin steak.

Please protect me in my dreams,
And make it better than it seems,
Grant the time may swiftly fly
When I myself may rest (or try)
In a snowy feather bed,
With a pillow ’neath my head.

Far away from all these scenes,
From the smell of hash and beans,
Take me back into the land,
Where they don’t scrub down with sand.

And Thou knowest all my woes,
Feed me in my dyin’ throes,
Take me back and I promise Thee
Never more to cross the sea.

* * * * *

My Sarah Jane

She’s knockkneed; she’s lazy;
She’s bow-legged; she’s crazy;
She’s maul-eyed, she’s wall-eyed, she’s lame.
Well, her teeth are all false, from indulging in salts,
She’s my cockeyed, consumptive Plain Jane.

* * * * *

My Girl

My girl was the best of girls,
Her curls were the prettiest of curls.
No girl had lips so sweet,
No girl had such dainty feet.
My girl never told a lie,
Not even to me.
What a shame my girl must die
At the age of three.

_Budd’s Bundle of Bunk_

BY BUDD L. McKILLIPS

_Author of “After the Raid”_

This talk of blue laws gets my goat; reformers make me sore. I’d like to take them by the throat and kick them through the door. Time was I used to drink some beer, and maybe sing a song—perhaps I got soused once a year, and didn’t think it wrong.

But now if I desire a drink, some basement I must find, and if I get by with a wink perhaps I may go blind. The beer I drank was harmless stuff, ’twas made of hops and grain; the hootch today is made of snuff, ground glass and paint and rain.

Three weeks ago I took a drink—just one, I took no more; if I had two I really think I’d whipped an army corps. The one I took was bad enough, it stood me on my neck, and then I started to get rough and made the place a wreck. Somebody called three policemen in, they sat upon my brow and kicked me underneath the chin—I’ve got the marks there now. A riot call brought out more troops who battered me with clubs, then locked me in the city coops with ninety other dubs.

My friends chipped in and paid my fine of thirty thousand bucks, the doctors patched my head and spine—that cost five hundred shucks. When I got well my friends I told I’d never drink again, but soon I caught a beastly cold that filled my soul with pain. In olden days I’d hit the hay with half a pint of “Crow” and sure as fate in half a day the cold was sure to go.

This time I hunted up a doc and told him of my ills. His heart was harder than a rock—he gave me quinine pills. I took the pills to the lagoon and fed them to the ducks, then bought a quart of fresh-made “moon” that cost me seven bucks.

That night in bed I took a shot to drive the cold away; I woke up in a vacant lot at 10 a. m. next day.

From now on henceforth I am through with booze that makes me fight with elephants of vivid hue, and sleep in trees at night. No more I’ll sample raisin “skee” that causes much turmoil. I’ll take a chance on T. N. T., bay rum or croton oil.

There’s not much fun in life because there’s naught but woe and pain that’s come from passing foolish laws—I guess I’ll go to Spain.

* * * * *

Well, He’s Some Place

Jenkins made some hootch of raisins,
Yeast, potatoes, let it stand
For three weeks, then tried to drink it,
Now he’s with the angel band.

* * * * *

Candy Kisses

I went to kiss my girl good-night and she had no teeth. Every time I kissed her I saw a gum drop.

_Pasture Pot Pourri_

_I can’t place you, but your breath smells familiar._

* * * * *

A Cold One

It isn’t the cough that carries you off,
It’s the coffin they carry you offin.

* * * * *

_Never steal a watch, because a lawyer will eventually get the case and you the works._

* * * * *

I want a girl and I want her bad.

* * * * *

Gus’s Favorite Song

The old gray mare she sits on the whipple tree;
Sits on the whipple tree; sits on the whipple tree;
The old gray mare, she sits on the whipple tree,
All the whole day long.

* * * * *

Is your boss broadminded?

I should say so; he was out with two last night.

* * * * *

Pat and Mike staggered weakly to the rail of the pitching liner. “Begorra,” said Pat, “Oi don’t blame Christ for walking.”

* * * * *

If ignorance is a blister, don’t be an abscess.

* * * * *

_Girls, whatever you do—don’t get married. Bring your children up the same way._

* * * * *

Women can do things manly,
And do them without a frown,
But when she starts to climb a tree,
It’s time to call her down.

* * * * *

Love is like hash—you must have confidence to enjoy it.

* * * * *

_No, Geraldine, just because a cranky woman is sometimes called an old cat is no reason you should refer to a voting woman as a poll cat._

* * * * *

Now Mary had a swarm of bees,
She loved their buzzing lives;
They also loved their Mary, ’cause
Their Mary had the hives.

* * * * *

Our motto for May: “You’re a million miles from nowhere when you hold her dainty hand.”

* * * * *

Since the Dutch Room Raid

Here’s to San Diego—the best town all around;
Here’s to dear old Boston—the city of the sound;
Here’s to good Chicago that once was up-to-date;
And here’s to Minneapolis—she’s been so dead of late.

* * * * *

We lost our good spirit when they took away our booze.

_Classified Ads_

Waiting on the Corner

(From the Des Moines Register.)

Will the elderly gentleman, owner of the Cadillac sedan, who left young widow on Sixth avenue, a week before Christmas, let me hear from him through this paper? Strictly confidential.

* * * * *

Convalescent

(From the Montezuma, Colo., Journal)

A. O. Lindquist, who was married three weeks ago, is able to be out again and will likely be able to assume his duties as a carpenter and contractor soon.

* * * * *

Come One, Come All

(From the Marengo Republican-News)

Baptist Church, 7:30 p. m.—Popular evening service. Subject, “Fools and Idiots.” A large number are expected.

* * * * *

The Church Was Packed

(From the Miller, S. D., Press)

Next Sunday morning the minister is going to, in his sermon, reveal: “How To Meet the Demand for Wine.” The superintendent of the Sunday School announces that the supplies for the quarter are at hand and may be secured by the teachers at the church.

* * * * *

Oh, Very Well!

(From the Kewanee Star-Courier)

Notice—I have been getting numerous calls for nursing. I wish not to be called as my health does not permit me to overdo. Especially I have two canaries and house flowers to care for. I may, when weather gets warmer take a few cases. Mrs. Lizzie Hague, 638 Pine.

* * * * *

Add Signs of Spring

(From the Omaha World-Herald.)

Female cinnamon color canary wants to mate. Walnut 1936.

* * * * *

Accommodating

(From Seattle Times)

Mrs. Hausman can accommodate 2 or 3 young men. 721 9th Ave. Elliott 2161.

* * * * *

Or Any Old Color

(From Pittsburg Press)

BLACK OR WHITE?—What about it? Margaret Livingston, Ince movie star, says white stockings make the legs appear larger and more shapely. She’d get our vote in red ones. Some negligee, Peggy has. No, dear, you’re wrong—negligee is wearing apparel.

* * * * *

And a Child Shall Lead Them

(From Memphis Commercial Appeal)

Housekeeper wanted at once; must have a child, by a widower 60 years of age. Nice furnished home and farm. Will give an interest. Wood Lawn Farm, Havana, Ark.

* * * * *

West Side or Out Side

(From Grand Rapids Press)

WANTED—Breast milk; must be on west side.—66101.

* * * * *

The Way It Was Done

(From East Peoria Post.)

New Years Day our young friends, Miss Hattie Cochran and Mr. Elias King without any ceremony at all were united in the bonds of holy wedlock.

* * * * *

They Make the Best Kind

(From the Oberlin, O., Tribune.)

WANTED—A husband; must be a sinner; none other need apply. P. O. Box 61, Oberlin.

_Musings of a Bachelor_

There are three kinds of females—foolish girls, damphoolish girls and married women.

Strong perfume has never yet become an excuse for not bathing.

When a man becomes so well acquainted with a girl that she tells him “Now, stop,” he is fairly well acquainted.

Most men have quit wearing suspenders, but that’s about all some women wear.

There are a number of ways to kiss a girl, but only one way to kiss a married woman.

A girl with a quart of hootch is more popular these days than the girl with a ton of good looks.

Telephone girls who say over the wire “Numbah, please,” are the same ones who at home shout “Hey, pass them spuds.”

Long ago I was taught that “All is not gold that glitters,” and more recently I have found out that all who flap are not flappers.

Girls who live in glass houses should always pull down the shades.

Girls with highly polished finger nails are generally the ones with runs in silk hosiery.

When women get their heads together and whisper, they’re talking about some other woman; when men do the same they’re discussing the latest recipe for home-made hootch.

A woman who will faint at the sight of a mouse will tell you that the prize fight she saw was very tame.

A friend of mine wanted to buy a vamp table. I didn’t know what a vamp table was. He said it was a table with straight legs and without anything on top.

There are some girls who, at a theater, insist upon whispering to their escort that “the man on the other side is trying to flirt with me.”

Chewing tobacco seems to have passed out with booze and suspenders. A real “man” nowadays wears a belt and a wrist watch and smokes pills.

Somebody has said recently that jazz music is the voice of the devil. But who the devil cares?

When a woman threatens to scream you can be sure she won’t.

An optimist is a member of the bartenders’ union who is still paying dues.

There are some married women who would like to play football providing there weren’t any goal posts.

A boxer who fights his battles in the ring instead of in the columns of the newspapers is a sufficient attraction these days to merit considerable attention.

A young woman tries to please man. When she gets old she tries to please God.

It’s a long way from Los Angeles to Palm Beach but the styles in bathing suits of the Mack Sennett queens and the dames of high society seem about the same.

Electric lights were never made for courting. In the days of the gas jet a fellow could turn down the light a little at a time. Now he has to snap off the electricity all at once and take a chance.

There may be a good many arguments against the restoration of the good old four per cent beer, but right now we can’t think of a single one.

There were more divorces, more murders, more burglaries in New York in 1920 than in 1919. Hooray for prohibition!

As we remember the arguments of the prohibitionists a dry country would be nothing short of Utopia. There wasn’t going to be any crime nor any marital difficulties nor were any young girls going to go wrong. It is a merry world, my masters.

It costs so much nowadays to get a house to live in and enough booze for the house warming that there isn’t anything left for furniture.

* * * * *

My love for you my pretty one
Is like a beacon-light,
It smoulders in the daytime
But burneth bright at night.

* * * * *

She tends the locks upon the dam,
He tries not to offend her,
For fear she’ll fire him off the job;
In fact he’s too, dam tender.

_Our Rural Mail Box_

=Belle=—We can’t use your story, but you win the diamond studded stomach pump.

* * * * *

=Sweet Marie=—The bridegroom should not see the bride on the day of the wedding until he meets her in the church or in front of Court Commissioner Bates. However, if you have any apprehensions, you might ask your big brother to keep an eye on him. Men are so fickle, you know.

* * * * *

=Dolly=—It is not, generally speaking, correct to send invitations for the wedding and christening simultaneously. Circumstances quite often alter cases, however.

* * * * *

=Will E. Crowder=—You should not doubt. Did you not say you met her walking home after an automobile ride?

* * * * *

=Grace=—Congratulations. A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankroll smaller, home happier, and clothes shabbier. I know, for I’ve brought up five of them.

* * * * *

Deep Stuff

A young man who hailed from Thief River,
Made love to his girl in a fliver,
The car hit a tree,
She cried, “Oh, dear me,
I fear I have fractured my liver.”

* * * * *

Cannibalism

A handsome young flyer named Slater
Loved madly a girl in Decatur;
One night in the rain,
They eloped in his plane.
They claim now that young aviator.

* * * * *

Sing This Merrily

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You chase me,
And I’ll chase you.

* * * * *

Treat ’em Rough

She gazed into his angry eyes,
And he gazed back at her,
With brow as dark as stormy skies,
He told her what she “were.”
His fingers circled round her neck,
He kicked her in the slats,
Then as he searched for broom and mop,
He cried, “Gol darn those cats!”

_Jest Jokes and Jingles_

In Memoriam

To a chemistry student who drank Sulphuric Acid thinking it was water.

Here lies the remains of William Dough;
Now he is no more,
For what he thought was H₂O
Was H₂SO₄.

* * * * *

Mrs. Murphy was getting the supper for the children on Saturday night, when a young woman came to her door.

“I’m a collector for the Drunkards’ Home,” she said, “Could you help us?”

“Come around tonight and I’ll give you Murphy,” she replied, as she went on with her work.

* * * * *

Elsie had a little light,
She had it trained no doubt,
Cause every time that William called,
That little light went out.

* * * * *

Just Like a Wife

Two more cases of talking sickness have been reported. It is needless to say that both of them are women.

* * * * *

Life

Chapter I.

“Glad to meet you.”

Chapter II.

“Isn’t the moon beautiful?”

Chapter III.

“Just one more, dear … please!”

Chapter IV.

“Do you…?”

“I do…”

Chapter V.

Da—da—da—da.

Chapter VI.

“Whereinell’s dinner?”

* * * * *

Anatomy Students, Attention

(Terre Haute, Ind., Post)

Gertrude Hoffman, classic dancer, was considering the advisability of muzzling her pet snake today. While she was dancing the “Princess of Rajah” last night, the reptile bit her on the left leg, between the overture and the climax.

* * * * *

“These stockings were all in this world,” she said,
“That my poor mother left to me.”
The lawyer said, as the will he read:
“What a beautiful legacy.”

* * * * *

My Gawd, Dearie!

We see by the public print where Richard G. Badger is the author of a new book on “Nervous Children—Their Prevention and Management.”

* * * * *

Wondairful Climax!

A French officer, a military attaché in Washington, was invited to a golden wedding. Had a fine time and desired to thank his host upon departing.

“Had ze gran’ evening,” quoth he. “Ze Americain is ver’ nice to ze Frenchman. But I would ver’ much like to know what is zees Golden Wedding?”

His host explained in detail that he and his better half had been living together for fifty long years in perfect harmony and accord.

“Wondairful! Wondairful!” exclaimed the Frenchman, patting his hands together excitedly. “And now after fifty years zis wondairful wedding.”

* * * * *

A Twice Told Tale

A teddy bear sat on the ice
As cold as cold could be.
But soon he up and walked away,
“My tale is told,” said he.

* * * * *

There’s a Limit

Said he, “Sweet maiden, ere we part,
Believe me, I can see,
That you possess a loving heart,
A heart that beats for me.”
“Great Scott,” the maiden murmured low,
Beneath her wide-brimmed hat;
“I didn’t realize I was so
Decollette as that.”

* * * * *

Prohibition agents rush in where bootleggers fear to tread.

* * * * *

Some Bugler

Two soldiers in a negro regiment, says the Gold Chevron, were boasting about their company buglers.

“G’long wit’ you boy,” said one; “you ain’t got no booglers. We is got the boogler, and when that boy wraps his lips around that horn and blows pay call, it sounds jest like a symphony band playin’.”

“Well, if you like music, that’s all right; but if you is yearnin’ fo’ food, you wants a boogler with a hypnotic note, like we is got. Boy, when Ah hears ole Custard-Mouth Jones discharge his blast Ah looks at mah beans and Ah says:

“Strawberries, behave yo’selves! You is crowdin’ all the whip cream out of mah dish.”

* * * * *

_Ching Wong Long and Ching Fong Luey_
_Started in to eat chop-suey._
_They ate and ate until they died,_
_Did they commit “chop sueycide”?_

* * * * *

More Latin

Boyabus kissabus girlabussorum,
Girlabus likabus wanta somorum,
Papabus hearabus kissabussorum,
Kickabus boyabus outa the doorum,
Darkabus nightabus no lightabossorum,
Climbabus gatepost, breechibus torum.

* * * * *

Remember, my son, that a giggling girl is apt to become a cackling woman.

* * * * *

Those Dreadful Drummers

Four or five jolly drummers gathered in the smoking compartment of a Pullman car, and soon their conversation drifted to the great problem of the day—women. In the party also was a frock-coated pastor of serious mien.

The salesmen winked at each other as the minister entered, and then, as if to have some harmless pleasure, one after another started telling of the wonderful virtues of the knights of the grip.

“I am often away from home for four weeks at a time,” one salesman commenced, “and I never even look at another woman.”

“And I am so bound up in the charms of my wife that I’m ashamed to tip the check girls,” declared the next one.

“Why, my wife is so good to me that I won’t allow a woman to wait on me in a restaurant,” said another.

Their conversation sounded too much like unadulterated bunk for the good minister to swallow, and he joined the party by offering a silk hat to any salesman present who could truthfully say he had always been faithful to his wife. The pastor won his point and the conversation soon drifted to other subjects.

The next day one of the salesmen arrived home and soon told his wife of the jolly party in the Pullman smoker.

“But, John,” she said, “why didn’t you take him up?” John’s active salesman brain worked quickly.

“Why, Mable, you know I look like hell in a silk hat.”

* * * * *

It Was Ocean Blood

A Whiz Bang gob writes to ye editor and asserts that our story in the April issue about the Scotchman who was hurt while carrying hootch was incorrect, in that the real hero was a sailor. This is the true history of the case, he avers:

The gob was coming down the street with two bottles under his pea-coat, when he saw a fellow shipmate in a fight with three men across the way. He promptly sailed across and waded in. In fifteen minutes or so he heaved to as he felt a warm liquid running down his side. Rolling his eyes heavenward, he groaned, “Oh, Gawsch! I hope I’m stabbed!”

* * * * *

She was a sweet and pretty miss,
So dainty and demure,
She lived down by the race track
And all the horsemen knew her.

* * * * *

“Don’t dress that hen inside the house,”
The wife was heard to mutter.
“All right,” said he, “I’ll stand outside
Upon the curb and gutter.”

* * * * *

The Hope of the Fat

The incorrigible joker stood outside the Great Synagogue, as the Chosen were pouring out, last Shobboz, and declaimed: “There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we may.”

And a fat, greasy-looking little man sidled up to him and wheezed:

“Do you vant to thsee the rabbi, misther?”

* * * * *

You Can’t Fool ’em at Tall

He had been married about six months, during which time he had made the most strenuous endeavors to abandon his former naughty ways and to give up his intemperate bachelor friends and the numerous pretty ladies with whom he had so long been associated. But it happened one day that he fell in with a very dear friend, till in a somewhat dazed condition he eventually fetched up at his “home sweet” ’round about five o’clock on the following morning. Stealthily he crept upstairs to bed and wifie being, as he imagined, asleep, equally stealthily did he start to undress in the cold, gray light of dawn. For a time all went well; then suddenly a voice rose above the stillness:

“Charles, where’s your vest?”

Charles pulled himself together rapidly and endeavored to review the situation.

“My dear,” he replied confidentially, after much mental effort, “upon my soul, I believe I must have left it—in the cab!”

* * * * *

Unlucky months for getting married: Jan., Feb., Mar., Apr., May, June, July, Aug., Sept., Oct., Nov., Dec.

* * * * *

My girl brought me a basket of eggs. As she stepped up the steps, I said, “What beautiful eggs.” And when she reached me she slapped my face.

* * * * *

Only five months to wait for the second October Whiz Bang annual.

* * * * *

BATHING BEAUTIES!

Real photographs of the famous California Bathing Girls

_Just the thing for your den!_

Size 3½ × 5½

POSITIVELY THE BEST ON THE MARKET

ASSORTMENT of 6 for 25c or 25 for $1.00

Send Money Order or Stamps. Foreign money not accepted unless exchange is included.

EGBERT BROTHERS

Dept. W. B., 303 Buena Vista St., LOS ANGELES, CAL.

_Wholesale agents wanted everywhere in U. S. Write for wholesale terms._

+-------------------------------
If you like our Farmyard / Capt. Billy’s Whiz Bang,
Filosophy and Foolishness, / R.R.2, Robbinsdale, Minn.
fill in this coupon. / Enclosed is money order (or
/ check) for subscription commencing
$2.50 per / with .................. issue
year. / MONTH
/
/ Name ............................
/ Street ...........................
/ City & State ......................

* * * * *

Genuine Photographs

We are headquarters for photographs and pictures of all kinds, offering the most complete line in the country.

1 Catalogue “A” illustrating 500 nude, semi-nude and bathing
girl subjects, by prepaid express, for $1.00; 6 for $5.00

1 Catalogue “B” illustrating 400 film star and bathing
girl subjects, by mail, prepaid, for 25c; 5 for 1.00

1 Catalogue “W” illustrating more than 1,200 pictures, mottoes,
etc., a part as follows: Turner Prints 14, Petty Pictures 51,
Grafton Proofs 29, Congress Prints 26, Famous Mottoes 142,
Burlington Proofs 24, Religious Pictures 20, Genuine Mezzo
Proofs 48, Genuine Mezzo Prints 112, Connoisseur Miniatures
12, and many others. Price, $1.00 per copy. Prepaid, six
copies for 5.00

25 Art Nude photographs, size 3½ × 5½, no two alike, for 2.00
50 Art Nude photographs, size 3½ × 5½, no two alike, for 3.00
100 Art Nude and Semi-nude photographs, size 3½ × 5½, for 5.00

20 Bathing Girl Photos, size 3½ × 5½, all different, for 1.00
50 Bathing Girl Photos, size 3½ × 5½, all different, for 2.25
100 Bathing Girl Photos, size 3½ × 5½, all different, for 4.00
250 Bathing Girl Photos, size 3½ × 5½, all different, for 10.00
500 Bathing Girl Photos, size 3½ × 5½, all different, for 25.00

12 Hand Colored, Bathing Girl Photos, size 8 × 10, for 5.00
25 Hand Colored, Bathing Girl Photos, size 8 × 10, for 10.00
50 Hand Colored, Bathing Girl Photos, size 8 × 10, for 20.00
100 Bathing Girl Photos, black and white, size 8 × 10, for 30.00

12 Art Nudes, selected from our leading sellers, or any you
may choose from our catalogue in any finish desired, at 10.00
25 Art Nudes, special selection, best sellers, size 11 × 14,
mounted (a selection that we are sure will please) 12.50
100 Art Nudes, size 7 × 9, all different, assorted finishes 50.00

12 Movie Star Photographs, size 8 × 10, your choice, at 6.00
25 Movie Star Photographs, size 8 × 10, your choice, at 12.00
50 Movie Star Photographs, size 8 × 10, your choice, at 24.00
100 Movie Star Photographs, size 8 × 10, your choice, at 35.00
150 Movie Star Photographs, size 8 × 10, your choice, at 50.00

12 Movie Star Photographs, size 3½ × 5½, your choice, at 1.00
25 Movie Star Photographs, size 3½ × 5½, your choice, at 1.50
50 Movie Star Photographs, size 3½ × 5½, your choice, at 2.00
100 Movie Star Photographs, size 3½ × 5½, your choice, at 4.00

6 Komic Pictures, 11 × 14, mntd., “Make You Laugh Kind” 1.00
12 Komic Pictures, 11 × 14, mntd., “Make You Laugh Kind” 1.50
25 Komic Pictures, 11 × 14, mntd., “Make You Laugh Kind” 2.50

Art Nudes are shipped by express only. Remit by money order or bank
draft. All orders shipped promptly.

The American Art Company
Offering the Most Complete Line of Art Subjects in the World
JANESVILLE, WISCONSIN, U. S. A.

* * * * *

_Everywhere!_

_Whiz Bang_ is on sale at all leading hotels, news stands, on trains, 25 cents single copies, or may be ordered direct from the publisher at 30 cents single copies; two-fifty a year.