Probably Their Face Shaving off the eyebrows and substituting a thin black painted line is said to be a remarkable new face fashion adopted by a section of smart women. Really one begins to wonder what they will shave next. _Smokehouse Poetry_ _Whiz Bang, in its next issue, will bring back to life Robert W. Service’s “Lady That’s Known as Lou,” and the picturesque Alaskan barroom of his tragical masterpiece, “The Shooting of Dan McGrew.”_ _“But I want to state, and my words are straight,_ _And I’ll bet my poke they’re true,_ _That one of you is a Hound of Hell,_ _And that one is Dan McGrew.”_ _That’s a flash of the trail which Service leads to the realm of Dangerous Dan. It will be republished in full in the March issue._—THE EDITOR. The Shimmy Shaker By CARL M. HIGDON Did you ever hear the story Of the shimmy-shaking maid, Who could shake a wicked shimmy But of men she was afraid? She could shimmy in the morning, She could shimmy in the night, She could shimmy in a bedroom, She could shimmy loose or tight. She could shimmy in the ballroom, She could shimmy on the street, She could shimmy after dinner With a wiggle slow and sweet. She could shimmy on a mountain, She could shimmy in a pool, When it comes to shimmy-shaking She’s a shimmy-shaking fool. * * * * * A Tom Fooler Rhyme It was midnight on the ocean, Not a street car was in sight, The sun was shining brightly And it rained all day that night. It was a summer night in winter, The rain was snowing fast, A barefoot boy, with shoes on, Stood, sitting on the grass. It was evening, and the rising sun Was setting in the west, And the little fishes in the trees Were huddling in their nest. The rain was pouring down, The moon was shining bright, And everything that you could see Was hidden out of sight. While the organ pealed potatoes, Lard was rendered by the choir, While the sexton rung the dish-rag, Someone set the church on fire. “Holy smoke!” the preacher shouted; In the rain he lost his hair; Now his head resembles Heaven, For there is no parting there. * * * * * How’s Business “Business is poor,” said the beggar; Said the undertaker, “It’s dead;” “Falling off,” said the riding school teacher; The druggist, “Oh, vial,” he said. “It’s all write with me,” said the author; “Picking up,” said the man on the dump; “My business is sound,” said the bandman; Said the athlete, “I’m kept on the jump.” * * * * * Answer from Your Heart