Judge — April 20, 1912 — page 17: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Via ‘an anti-weapoa law. N [Acting under provisions of the the w F ARMS, but not of men, I sing! Since the days of pirates on the Span- ish Main, when cargoes of shimmering, golden coins used to come plunging down onto the floor of the ocean to de- light the mermaids, nothing has caused more commotion in the world of sub- marine femininity than the recent ar- rival of boat-loads of weapons confiscated and dumped into the sea by New York police under the new Sullivan law, Neptune has smiled only once since the first scoopshovelful of revolvers, brass knucks and stilettos fell, glitter- ing and twisting, through the blue- green brine. Nothing in that first shovel ever reached bottom. Mermaids, darting like hungry trout for a fly, snatched every murderous weapon of the lot, with little screams of delight all the while and ecstatic cooings. The instinct of woman, apparently the same the world over or under, asserted. itself forthwith, and in a moment deadly stilet- tos glittered as hatpins in sea-green hair, and brass knucks which vicious gangsters and thugs had worn were dis- played on the daintiest of unearthly fingers and were being favored with glances as joyful as ever a leap-year bride gave to her wedding ring. Shovelful after shovelful, the uncon- cerned policemen, who buoyed in a tug- boat above the waves, heaved grewsome toys into the salty water. At the end of five minutes the neighborhood under- sea resembled nothing so much as a de- partment-store bargain sale, only fright- fully more weird than those familiar scenes of horror, because a mermaid never needs worry about looking before she leaps. Submarine. ‘York police have been dumping confiscated weapons into the ccran the Law has been working. but this is the Srst report of the commotion it caused in submarine circles.) Mrch has been published regaxling One maid—the others declared she lacked a little in good taste, but they may have been speaking spitefully—was wearing a leather-covered billy in her hair as a rat and a manacle for a brace- let. After they grew weary of decorating themselves, the mermaids spent whole hours clicking automatic revolvers, to watch little bubble-bullets of air shoot out of the barrels. A more unhappy man than Father Neptune scarcely could be pictured. No one could find a good word to say for him after a certain green-haired monster of a young lady suggested that a person who would go around in this age of the underworld with an old-fashioned, three- pronged pitchfork instead of carrying a shooter automatic was rather— Weil, her exact words were, **Decidedly too slow for our set!"" He had, however, one happy moment. That was when a mermaid asked him a foolish question about a rifle she was carrying. “It's a repeater,’’ said Neptune. “And, please, sir, what's a peater’?”’ she persisted. “Something men use to vote with,’’ the good sea king answered. His little joke continues to be a popu- lar enigma. ‘re- —Charler Phelps Cushing comicbooks.com