Judge — December 20, 1913 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

Kasch, champion of Newport, weighing’ in at 139° Beach, weighing in at 14 If I Were Santa Claus IF 1 WERE only Santa Claus, I’d make all gifts relate To wish, deserving, and the needs of simple and of great; And thus restore to Christmas Day joys long held in reserve, While handing out to some folks things they jolly well deserve. If I were only Santa Claus, that Tommy Jones should get The sled and skates he’s yearning for. His little sister Bet Should have the dolls and other toys she long has dreamed about, While every kiddie everywhere with Christmas joy should shout. If I were only Santa Claus, Miss Seraphina Brown, Who languishes for Billy Smith, should get a stunning gown, Which would her charms so magnify he could not long delay, And to fond lovers everywhere I'd bring the wedding day. If I were only Santa Claus, the old I'd not forget; To each his wish or hers I'd bring, that they should never fret. And if a rich man with the gout deserved a better fate, A cure I'd bring him, while the poor with gifts I'd make elate. From misers who think but of gold I'd all income divert, And make them dine on past-due notes, with pennies for dessert; And grouchers who no pleasing word are ever heard to speak I'd transport for a year or so to some bleak mountain peak. If in the prisons I should find men Justice had forgot, They should go free, while to the cells of crooks I'd send a lot. For ridicule I would not care, nor yet bid for applause, And many other things I'd do if 1 were Santa Claus. —J. A, Waldron. A Modern Climax “‘No!"’ cried the fair young thing, as she gently but firmly resisted the kiss of her ardent suitor. ‘I am not afraid of microbes, but of your crobes!'’ And he never darkened her door again! Polyglot “How was your last cook?”’ “*She was an Irish girl who talked tur- key, drank Scotch, got her Dutch up and took French leave. Doctor—Temperature 104, That 's bad! A Christmas Litany By LEWIS ALLEN From kind-hearted friends who send us slippers and suspenders when we want cigars and a meerschaum Pipe, and from elevator boys who remind us twice a day for a fortnight before the twenty-fifth that ‘‘Chrismus’ll soon be here!”’ Good Santa, deliver us! From dear little sweethearts who give us something that looks like an octopus, made of lace and ribbons and silk and smelly stuff, and neglect to send the answer with it, leaving us to guess whether it is a pen-wiper or a match box or a slipper case; and frem doing eleventh-hour errands in the stores for our wives, Good Santa, deliver us! From aniline-dyed, arsenic-shellac- varnished Christmas candy, and from “Merrie Yuletide’ far- from cigars; likewise from boobs who send us liquid gifts so badly packed as to leak all over everything and leave a telltale trail, Good Santa, deliver us! From rich relatives who hint for us to tell them what we want and give us to understand, when we suggest a big check, that it is a check we will get, and then send us a copy of ‘‘Fa- mous Authors in Their Homes’’; and from unkind relatives who give us neckties that suggest 4 fight between a pot of red paint and a loosely fried egg and expect us to wear them in public, Good Santa, deliver us! From generous wives who give us a pair of lace curtains, a hall rug, a willow sewing table, a pair of ostrich plumes and a quart of costly perfume for our very own Christmas presents; and from little boys who live on the floor above and neglect to break their Christmas horns within a couple hours after they get them, Good Santa, deliver us! Meanness Edwards—So you think your next-door neighbor is mean? Matchell—Of course I think he ismean. Wouldn't you think him mean if he killed his rooster—which had wakened you and kept you awake every morning for two years—the very night before you wanted to catch a two-ten a. m. train? Golfing patient—What 's bogey, doc ? comicbooks.com