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Show BREAKFAST FOOD By GEOEGE E. PHAIB. THE INJTJRED MAGNATE. It was an old, bewliiskored buiu outside the kitchen door, And for a plate of pork and beans tlie hobo did implore. "And who are you?" the housewife Baid, with features dark and sore. "In me you see," said he to she, "a victim of the war." "Vour arms and legs are ou the job, you can't be injured much You seem to beat your way around without a cane or crutch!" He sadly turned away And to her he did say: CHORUS I haven't lost an arm or log In this here cruel war; I haven't lost a single limb, But I have lost jnuch more. Although I have no cane or crutch, You have no right to scoff, For I was in the baseball war, And they shot my bankroll off. Joe Tinker is in tho wrong when he claims that Tampa is not a desirable training camp. His athletes will keep themselves in shape swatting mosquitoes. mosqui-toes. Percy HauglitOD has decided to retain re-tain George Stalling as manager. He intends to take a post-graduate course in language. Writes an expert: "One look at Vfillavd disheartens the average white hope." One look at W'illard in action also disheartens the man behind the lunch counter. A bicycle race on a "hOTne-trainer" must be a sensational affair. But the acme in spoi-ting events would, be a derby on a treadmill. PRIDE. Siding townward toward my daily agony i had occasion to sit beside an ancient youth. Even with the toothbrush tooth-brush sprouting on his upper lip he could make weight for Johnny Coulon. With a clean suave he would have weighed half as much. A few seats ahead sat a lawyer and a business man. I concluded that the thin man was a lawyer because I wouldn't trust him with a nickel. For the same reason I concluded that the fat, red-necked person was a business j man. Law has its ethics and so lias i business, but, owing to a slight oversight, over-sight, the Ten Commandments were overlooked. . Now, go on with the story: "It was 6 below by my thermometer this morning,' said the lawyer by way of conversation. "Hah!" replied the business, man, his fat neck growing pinker in conscious con-scious pride. ' ' My thermometer said 8 below. ' ' The runt beside me nudged me in the ribs with his bony elbow. "That big fellow," he whispered, "Is my bos3. His thermometer was only 8 below. He might fire me if he heard this, but I am going to tell it to you-Mine you-Mine was 10 below!" In this Land of the Free and Home of the Brave every man is entitled to his own thermometer. "This is the kind of weather T like," they say. And then they put the Jrish curse on the coal dealer when he bauds in his bill. International and domestic diplomacy are much the same. ' ' This wiU hurt me more than it will hurt you, but I am going to whale you to my heart's content. ' ' AYc note bv the papers that there is a syndicate handling Jess Willard. A beef trust, as it wore. There is no hitch in the deal between be-tween Harry Sinclair and the Giants aside from a few million dollars. |