Published Monthly by
W. H. Fawcett,
Rural Route No. 2
at Robbinsdale, Minnesota
Entered as second-class matter May 1, 1920, at the post office at
Robbinsdale, Minnesota, under the Act of March 3, 1879.
_Price 25 cents_ _$2.50 per year_
Contents of this magazine are copyrighted. Republication of any
part permitted when properly credited to Capt. Billy’s Whiz Bang.
“_We have room for but one soul loyalty and that is
loyalty to the American People._”—_Theodore Roosevelt._
Copyright 1921
By W. H. Fawcett
[Illustration]
_Edited by a Spanish and World War Veteran and dedicated
to the fighting forces of the United States._
_Drippings From the Fawcett_
At the close of the recent war, on my way home to the Whiz Bang farm,
still in uniform, I chanced on an old sea captain friend of former days
down on New York’s Battery, old Jim Edmunds.
Later in the day, returning to my hotel with old Jim in tow, I found an
invitation to a formal dance and card party awaiting me for that evening.
I hit upon the idea that it would be well to take Captain Edmunds along;
that his stories of the sea dogs would prove entertaining to the guests.
Accordingly I persuaded Jim, after much difficulty, to buy a dress suit
for the occasion. The tailor couldn’t convince Jim that the vest should
be cut down, and with only one button, but finally they compromised on a
two-button vest.
All went well until we arrived at the hostess’ home and I introduced
Captain Edmunds to her. Jim had on a medal he won for saving a ship at
sea, and my hostess, at first puzzled as to whether he was an ex-army
captain or a sea skipper, noticed the medal, and exclaimed: “Captain, I
see you’re naval.”
The old man blushed and blurted out: “Yes, and if that danged tailor had
his way, you could see a whole lot more.”
* * * * *
The other evening I picked up my old neighbor, Bob Jaeger, for a flivver
spin to see the sights of Minneapolis.
First of all we visited the National Dutch room to enjoy the cabaret.
Bob was much astounded as he viewed the shapely dancers shimmying to the
jazziest of jazz orchestrations.
“What do you think of it, Bob?” I inquired.
“I think you’d better ask the orchestra to play a wedding march, and play
it quick,” he retorted.
* * * * *
Ignorance sometimes causes lots of trouble, and sometimes it falls upon
the innocent. Witness the case of Gus, our hired man.
I went with Gus to the Shoe Palace in Robbinsdale while he purchased a
new pair of boots. Now Gus suffers from a common malady—perspiration of
the feet—and he’s very sensitive about it.
The clerk sprinkled some French chalk into the new shoes as he was about
to try them on. Gus got up angrily.
“If I can’t try on a pair of your boots without having you sprinkle
chloride of lime in them, I’ll take my trade elsewhere,” he bellowed.
It was with much difficulty that I pacified Gus and explained the use
of the chalk. So now Gus has a new pair of boots, and without the lime
disinfectant.
* * * * *
A few days ago, for the first time in many moons, I heard sweet strains
of “Sweet Adeline” coming in a rich soprano, with bass accompaniment,
from a passing automobile on the Whiz Bang farm trail, and it brought me
out of my reveries and revived memories of bygone days.
Thoughts of the many times I had heard that song along the trail from
town, just after the bars of Robbinsdale and Casey’s roadhouse would
close, came to me sweetly.
This brand of choral singing has become a lost art under prohibition.
“Sweet Adeline” as sung by a troop of celebrators who wouldn’t know
whether they were standing on their feet or their heads, was very
beautiful.
To enjoy it thoroughly, one had to be quite drunk himself. Jack would
sing the tenor, Bob the bass and I would join in the chorus, in
sentimental strain. It was all very touching. With it, nothing can
compare.
In my memories I can still picture Jack’s tenor squawking “You’re the
flower of my heart” and Bob’s bass refrain “Sweet Adeline,” after which
came the grand finale. Ah, those were the happy days.
* * * * *
The couple that left an automobile seat at the Whiz Bang farm a couple
of months ago, while they went to town to report the theft of their
automobile, haven’t come back yet, and I don’t know what the deuce to do
with the seat.
_Farmyard Filosophy_
Many a man’s reputation depends on what isn’t found out about him.
* * * * *
Women are divided into two classes; those who desire husbands and those
who desire single men.
* * * * *
A good man who has gone wrong is in reality a bad man who has just been
found out.
* * * * *
The charity that begins at home is usually a stranger elsewhere.
* * * * *
And we note that the banker continues to take a lot of interest in his
work.
* * * * *
The fellow who is driven to drink will take a long ride these days.
* * * * *
Why not appoint an electrician to censor movies. He is used to shocking
things.
* * * * *
Love has all senses except common-sense.
* * * * *
What has become of the old fashioned man who used to be able to hit a
bullseye on the spittoon at thirty feet range?
* * * * *
Authorities have ruled that liquor can be placed in mince pies legally.
But if we had the liquor, we wouldn’t wait for the pie.
* * * * *
A Minnesota man has a dog that chews tobacco and still has some sense
left. But it doesn’t drink the liquor peddled these days.
* * * * *
A writer to the Whiz Bang asks, “Is marriage a success.” We’ll solve the
question by letting the married folk fight it out among themselves.
* * * * *
A politician says the American people are being coddled too much. He’s
right. Even the bootleggers won’t let you pour out your own drink any
more.
* * * * *
The amount of money a man has is the difference between his love for that
evil and his love for women.
* * * * *
Women estimate friends by the advantages to be derived from them.
* * * * *
Men suspect women too much and “THE WOMAN” not enough.
* * * * *
An old husband is an honor to his wife.
* * * * *
Balzac said: “Woman is a creature between man and the angels.” How true,
if it were not for her all men would have an easy road to heaven.
* * * * *
Love may be blind, but don’t take chances and come home with a long silk
stocking in your pocket.
* * * * *
Powder is the dust the gods have given women wherewith to blind the eyes
of men.
* * * * *
All men are not homeless, but some are home less than others.
* * * * *
Man is often blind to virtue, but never to beauty.
* * * * *
The frail young thing who is too tired to run an errand for mother can
wear out the huskiest man on the dance floor.
* * * * *