=Smokehouse Friends=—Ye editor has received many calls for the following poems, and would appreciate receipt of correct copies of them: “Johnnie and Frankie,” “Arkansaw” and the prose of the Irishman lecturing with lantern slides the story of Cleopatra. * * * * * =Anna Dine=—Snow again, Anna, I don’t get your drift. * * * * * =Mickey Finn=—There is nothing to the rumor that the girls will wear blacksmiths’ aprons for bathing suits this summer. * * * * * =Howe Hevah=—“The Skin Game” is not the name of a play. It is a profession indulged in by beauty doctors. * * * * * =Mac=—If the brass finger bowls are not large enough, would suggest that bushel baskets be used. * * * * * =Shimmy Dancer=—If you do, we’ll take off our jumper and overhalls. * * * * * =Kitty Korn=—I can’t place you, but I knew your father, Pop Korn. * * * * * He Led in Prayer An old railroad man was converted, as the story goes, and was asked to lead in prayer. Here is the way he worked it: “Oh, Lord, now that I have flagged Thee, lift my feet off the rough road of life and plant them safely on the deck of the train of salvation. Let me use the safety lamp known as prudence; make all couplings in the train with the strong link of Thy love. And, Heavenly Father, keep all switches closed that lead off to sidings, especially those with a blind end. Oh, Lord, if it be Thy pleasure, have every semaphore block along the line show the white line of hope, that I may make the run of life without stopping. And, Lord, give us the Ten Commandments as a schedule time, and when my train shall have pulled into the great, dark station of Death, may Thou, the Superintendent of the Universe, say with a smile: ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant; come up and sign the payroll and receive your check for eternal happiness.’” * * * * * A Robbinsdale Salad A young chicken, undressed; a little pep; lettuce. * * * * * Just Like Old Crow Once again the husband came staggering home late. “Oh, John, have you been drinking again?” sobbed his wife as she caught a whiff of beer. “No, dearie; you wronged me; I’ve been eatin’ frogsh’ legsh, and you smell the hops.” _It Pays to Advertise_ BY OXNARD PETE It isn’t necessary to read magazine stories any more. The editor tells you all about them in “eye catchers” at the beginning. They read like this: “_Mary’s Garter_,” by R. Ubberneck. A snappy and re-elastic love story that stretches the imagination to the breaking point. No “honi soit” stuff here. “_100 to 1_,” by N. O. Chance. A race track story. Like a gambler’s watch chain, it has a “charm” that holds the eye.