'A camer I contemplate is the moval of one of those inhuman torturers of wireless Listeners—a "crooner," writes Peter Simple in the "Morning Fast Nightly he and his race make count. ess thousands mourn, but there will be no moaning at any bar when be asses.
For myself, I have no fear of the consequences, for I can conceive of no jury of twelve sane citizens bringing in any verdict other than one of Consistent "How's Lawyer Jones this morning, doctor?" asked the farmer.
"Poor fellow," said the doctor, "I'm afraid he's lying at death's door "There's grit for ye," said the farmer admiringly; "at death's door and Badly Pat A. youns lady was being seen off at the railway station.
'"Now, don't bother to come any further—you'd have to get a platform ticket," she said to her escort.
"Oh, that's all right," he protested, meaning well, yerth more thi a penny to see you off"
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.