Judge — January 11, 1919 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

\. Suercner, President Revses P. Sreicurr, Seer, Edit if Joux Pexerron Maxwett A) Watpnoy, Lit Grant Hasitton, drt Dir: Lawtos Macwatt, Managing Editor Treasurer ALE Rout VER, rary E , Poutticinc a Gouty Worip OODROW WILSON is a doctor. His shop is the White House. He applies leeches of self-determination and prescribes pills of Democracy to oppressed nationalities. Dr. Wilson had to hurry away from the Shop the other day. He was called to a conference with fellow-members of his profession. He and Dr. Lloyd George and Chemist Clemenceau are in earnest con- sultation over the grave, but far from hopeless, state of a bilious world. Dr. Wilson left a long line of impatient patients in his outer office. Some of these patients have been awaiting the well known “recognition” treatment many aweek. There are the Jugo-Slavs, who have swallowed several vials of sympathy and advice but are deter- mined to keep up the treatments until the last pains of alleged oppression on their Dalmatian spinal column have been eliminated. The Poles are half-buried in an old easy chair, and keep a close eye on the inner door with its fake clock indicating “‘ Doctor Back in Six Weeks.” Rumanians, Greeks, Uhro-Russians, [ and Finns are sprawled about the room. Lithuania sits in a corner and scowls at Poland. The Serbs look en- viously through the street window toward the rapidly disappearing form of Presi- dent Masaryk, of Czecho Slovakia, who took his last treatment and rushed for Prague before Dr. Wilson made his getaway. Patients unable to edge into the reception-room, crowd the stoop outside. There are the Chileans and Peruvians, each with a jaw aflame; Friends of Irish Freedom, Schleswig-Hol- steiners, Porto Ricans, Ven- ezucla ‘exiles, Armenian martyrs, Koreans and others demanding diagnosis of and relief for their vary- ing ills and ails. honians Draven by WO, Wiesox Att tue Betrer ror Dr. Wilson might have had the Vice President keep shop while away. It wouldn’t have worked, though, according to some professional opinion, for the oppressed nationalities are a wary lot. They have read about the Chemist’s Boy who left the Paris Green at the house where the Paregoric should have been delivered, and forgot the difference between nitrate tablets and calomel, while the Apothecary was doing jury duty in a case of law involving a ten-pound note. Sons or Vicrory HE return of the Prodigal Sons of Victory! The home-coming of the Horatius of the West, who not only held the bridge between civilization and barbarism, but who built it before he held it! They are come home—two millions of us, born at Lexington, baptized at Gettysburg, grown to full matu- rity at Chateau-Thierry. Home! That is America, the Home Magnificent with forty-eight vast rooms, each one a regal banquet- hall, lighted with the smiles of one hundred million fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sweethearts, friends. The fires of the East strike the Woolworth Tower and the gilding dust ofa sinking sun sets afire the Golden Gate as the Prodigal Sons of Victory sail into port. Let trumpets blow a heaven-cleaving blast from the roof of their Home, the Rocky Mountains, let the doorways of the East flame with fire, and the floor of the forty-eight rooms be car- peted with roses. Cesar returned: from “ast with slaves chained chariots. America returns from France with kings and emperors _pin- ioned on the prow of her steel galleons. Welcome home—brawn and muscle and brain of our loins! Welcome home to our crusaders in khaki who struck upon the tombs of Europe and freed the dead! the to his Beinc Unexpectep comicbooks.com