Judge — August 23, 1919 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

Not an experiment but the happy and tangible result of 133 years of pro- gressive brewing by four generations cf the Evans’ family Send Your Naase and We'll Send You a Lachnite ease Od rapes nd eno ses pane) Dee eer Ci This Ui versity discovery, is the most important health invention of the century. ttn sii rejuvenates the Human Body It pro, Seog ermal sone rece ‘mplnyed sot writatnd nervas, corre BialTeh TES SIEE LST: coovend Cuticura Heals Itching Burning Skin Troubles N érves'a! 35, Ointment & and to, Taleum 2 fil drpesiets; Sonn 38, Ofotment 33 ond Let a Wounded Soldier Read This Copy of JUDGE When You've Finished Reading It The Army authorities tell us they can't begin to supply the soldier demand, especially isd , te hospitals, for good There never are enough JUDGES to go round cae stamp on the cover and drop in the nearest mail box. Uncle Sam will do the rest. FOR HEADACHE ANO NEURALGIA ay ANTI-KAMNIA (AX)TABLETS 1Oc & 25¢ PACKAGES ASK FOR AK TAGLETS HOTEL BINGHAM-- Philadelphia IN THE CENTER OF EVERYTHING well lighted and comfortahle rooms. Drawn by Wanwes Kerr “Fic tay there or we'll sink!” A Doughboy’s Memories By Ex-Per. C. W, Sarena, U.S. A MP. N M.P. with the documentary evidence was the harbinger of hard luck—the forerunner of plenty of penance and the precursor of remorse. A private soldier, skip- ping lightly back to camp on a self-extended pass, who fouled his rigging on a brusque, hard-boiled M.P., quickly changed his attitude toward life. Just the moment he came into that presence he was 5.W.O. ure Without Luck). And then the scenery shifted. When crime was perpetrated agai. military law and an M.P. landed the malefacting troop- er, the soft and limpid duties of barrack and field become rich memories on a background of golden haze. And the soldier, with a con- trite heart filled with noble resolutions, broke down under the dismay. Propping his chin in his hands, with his elbows on the guardhouse casement, he gazed woefully out and asked for sufficient strength to get through the hardship and a little extra, after he graduated, to locate and annihilate the raucous-throated, liberty-croaking M.P. who reduced him thus to the absolute zero of army individuality. One brush with an M.P. was usually enough. Before the brush the soldier considered most anything that was novel. Following it, he weighed every suggestion and then, instead of trusting to luck and plunging heedlessly in, he quietly counted up to ten, shook his head and decided to remain in camp and cleat up the holes in his O.D. breeches. An M.P. was bogey for the army course, the prevailing idea, the cynosure of all eyes, the big crash and the loud reverberation. He bore a, peculiar relation to the army. He was the main source of supply for courts-martial and the principal support of the guardhouse He preserved the form outlined at Stony Point. And if he overlooked anything it was because he couldn't switch his readin’ glasses for his long-distance spectacles quick enough to lamp the point The M.P. lurked. Also, he patroled the ue open spaces. He had military bearing, soldierly appearance, more stomach than a canal horse, a club and a heavy regulation six-shot trench mortar hanging from a belt around his waist He looked more formidable than a box turtle. And was. For the quiet, barrack-loving soldier who wanted to get the most out of the army and spend his time off washing his leggings and practicing cadence, he held no terror But for the birdie who wanted to get out the most in the army and who preferred some handy excitement to future distinctions, he was the nifty little goblin. An M.P. was always friendly. He would stop a soldier any time to carry on a conversa: tion. And he was as garrulous as W. Irving said Rip Van Winkle’s wife was. He could ask more questions than a boarding-school girl on her Christmas vacation. And frequently he got altogether too impertinent. This held true particularly after dark when everything was still and the regular passtime was passed. Then his curiosity was over-developed and he wanted to see all the slips. It was generally supposed that after he had seen one pass he would be satisfied. But he wasn’t. He kept right on looking as if he expected to find one that was written on a high-tempered bank note. Very little information was beyond his probe. The only point he didn’t seem crazy about was the nature of the soldier's religion. And the only reason he figured that as non- essential was because all guardhouses are non- sectarian. Everything else he got. And if the pass was good for 1 P.M. and it happens to be 1 A.M. when the meeting was called to order, complications set in. The M.P. was a consequence, stepped up another notch in the line for promotion, and the luckless soldier, crooning his simple hymn of hate, told his co: workers that he'd get him, sooner or later, beat him to an unrecognizable mass, and hold a guessing contest on former identity with prizes for the best scores. Mere Mockery “Wine is a mocker.” “T'll say this two per cent. stuff is.” comicbooks.com