Judge, 1918-02-16 · page 9 of 36
Judge — February 16, 1918 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains a whimsical short story illustrated by Emil Floethe titled "Hot Tom and Jerry and the Ghost Cop" by Benjamin De Casseres. The main narrative is a romantic fantasy about the New York Public Library's marble lions coming to life on winter moonlit nights. A mysterious policeman (the "ghost cop") tells the narrator he's witnessed this phenomenon repeatedly. When the narrator watches, the lions indeed descend from their pedestals, drink at the fountain, and return—then the policeman vanishes. The story suggests either magic or the narrator's imagination. Below the main story are two brief humorous items: a political jab at statesmen advocating "vote as we shoot" (likely WWI-era commentary), and a joke about "h'ells in 'o'ensollern" (German Kaiser Wilhelm II's name, mocking soldiers' accents while discussing military trenches). The page is primarily literary entertainment rather than political satire, though wartime references appear peripherally.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Draven by Exit Fuoure It can’t be done, Wilhelm. Hot Tom and Jerry and the Ghost Cop By Bexyatx De Casseres AVE you ever seen the Public Library Building in the light of a full winter moon at three o'clock in the morning? If not, you have never seen the Vision Magnificent of New York. In that wan, mysterious light that Temple of the Brain is like a vision of a palace drowned in an unsubstantial sea. It is a fairy spectacle built for night nomads and poctical policemen. The moonlight washes away all mere facts, and there is nothing more illusory in the world than snow- pallid marble swimming in the ghostly saffron beams of Luna. As I stood outside the show-window of the r store opposite the Library one morning, as darkness waned, admiring this admirable ruse aan approached me and said: said I, amazed that a Sense of Beauty had crawled into the Department. “Nothing like it anywhere for sheer mystery.” he continues I looked at him closer. He was tall, about y. athletic, a fine, sensitive chin and big brown , with dancing pupi “And maybe you'll see it this morning if you watch here a few minutes longer,” he said in a low tone. “You evidently know that such things can happen—at least, you do not disbelieve in their possibi He had evidently been “mugging” me with his mind. “What things?” I asked, wondering whether I had to do with “one of our finest” or whether the last Tom and Jerry had turned my mind. “Why, those lions. You may see them rise from their pfedestals in a minute or two—if it is their morning to do it. I have been on this beat since they were put there. and I have seen them do it dozens of times. though they are erratic and uncertain. But look!” he exclaimed pointing across to the building, as still as a thought in the brain of the dead. Both lions had risen to their full height on their marble pedestals, leaped to the long flight of steps, where they ambled tothe fountain. They drank long and deep, their manes floating in the moonlight like the golden zephyrs of some ancient, dying sun They returned to their pedestals slowly, and exchanging looks full of meaning with their great yellow eyes—eyes that were the mirrors of a city’s traffic and vanity—they resumed their marmoreal immobility, while the moon yawed to her bed- chamber in the Dawn. The policeman had suddenly disappeared. I returned many a moonlight morning to that spot opposite the Library, but never found that policeman again, nor did I ever see the lions take to the “water-hole” in the moonlight. But maybe that is because I cut out hot Tom and Jerrys. “ Statesmen who loudly advise us to “vote as we shoot” are apt to “shoot the bull” themselves. The Ells Tommy (writing)—O Bill! "OW many h’ells in ’o’ensollern? Bill—Two h'ells same as in ell. Drawn by J. Conacter. Looxour Orricer (in an unhe camouflage man, aren't yor Ithy observation post)—* Say, yo es. “Well, get busy! look like a dugout!” We want to have this blamed place made to comichooks.