Judge — June 30, 1917 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

CASCADE PURE WHISKY Our New Address We have removed from Nashville, Tenn., and are now located permanently in Louisville, Ky. Though the location is different, Cascade remains as ever the same pure product — mellow as moonlight GEO. 4. DICKEL Distillers Address all communications to 827 W. Main Street LOUISVILLE, KY. @& Co. MOONLIGHT If you can draw a little and want to draw more, you have an opportunity to learn at small expense to yourself. EUGENE ZIMMER- MAN has an established reputation as toonist. a car- He has put some of the tricks of his trade into a book, “CARTOONS and CARICATURES” bound neatly in 34 mo- rocco, which wiil be sent to you prepaid on receipt of $1.00. ZIM BOOK 6-30 Brunswick Building, 225 Fifth Ave., New York City Cae | JUDGE STOP—THIEF! the rights of the ladies; but what about the rights of babies? Have babies no rights? When old Uncle Sol pays his initial visit to diminutive Jimmy, aged two, has the poor child no claim on the coin which he has cooed, coaxed, and cajoled from the avuncular purse that his Sitch but surely the progressive peoples of the carth are conceding | father, against whose fawning and flattery its hasps have ever remained strangely and stubbornly rigid, should go to work and jostle his progeny’s hard-earned savings through the chink in the back of the porcelain pig that stands on the mantel? Is saucy little Sally, who shakes -days” so cutely and shakes down so neatly her grumpy old grandpa, to have no | portion of the pickings that precious papa needs must sand-paper his digits for execution of a Jimmy Valentine on the combination of her iron safe? O, Civic Justice—where is thy proud boast of malefactors apprehended and felons found out, when thousands of domestic magsmen are daily suffered to crack the cribs of their criblings with impunity? 7 “Father is a tank He breaks into Baby’s bank” sings a popular song-writer. But is this really sufficient justification for the dastardly deed? Is there not every likelihood that baby, too, will grow to be a tank, with just as much need of —and a considerably clearer title to—the bankings of his salad days? Nor is it of any use to plead the exigencies which arise during a financial crisis in one’s household affairs. Better far to meet that gasoline bill by embezzling the funds of charity, or mulcting the coppers from the cup of a beetle-blind beggar, than to jimmy your way into the infantile affluence at the burglarious midnight hour, while the young and helpless hopeful lies in the next room peacefully pounding the pillow of his crib, in blissful ignorance of the perfidy of papa Ah, parents! Pause and think! Think before you raise the ruthless mallet to the porcine bursary which stares so placidly at you from the corner of that mantel: think before you shatter the sacred ties which bind together father and child! And babies—O, babies! Put not your trust in parents! Be not beguiled by the bribe of an occasional lollypop; above all things demand a rendering of accounts; and at all times keep an eye peeled for your Depredatory Daddies! ~Cyril B. Egan. THE INVESTMENT Now, think how mortified “TIE heaven will be! There’s a long and heated family argument back of that slightly shocking and mocking remark. The details of the argument don’t matter, but the intent of it has been conveyed to black sheep time and time again, Why, if you hate the town and love the country, do you tie yourself to the town through the hot week and ramble the cool Sunday away in the attitude of one who has shot his neighbor’s dog and hopes to avoid If you want to write, why don’t you? If you hate the detail of an office—can’t even keep your desk unlittered, why try? No office manager wants your half-hearted work. Several persons, male and female, with more than your capability to perform your despised task have been turned away from the lower door only this morning. Why not get out and give the next applicant a show? He may need your job. . You don't. Remember the time you had an order to fill a niche in this comfortable page? and you let George do it? He received your whole week’s pay and the effort cost him not eternities of agony, but just one-half hour of thirty minutes. After which he took the morning off in his Ford and talked gasoline in the roadside repair shop and got his next morning’s material out of the old character who played the chin music to him. Why didn’t you do it? You were too plaguey Connecticut midsummer lazy. That's why. Get onto yourself. Chuck your job. Don’t be lazy. Work! Write! Plow! Heaven’s burden of mortification is sufficiently heavy these war years. —Battell Loomis. VEN has invested something in you. suspicion? Making Good She—Has your boy fulfilled your expectations as a shining light? Hc—Has he? Say, the traffic cops pinched him twice this week for not having on his dimmer. The Woman with the Mop Everybody is doing a whole lot of talking just now about the man with the hoe, but no one has a word of praise for the woman with the mop, who follows in the wake of his muddy shoes.