Judge — February 28, 1920 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

— evator Man \N ro Wor | How Revenge By Axtuur Guiterman | K THAT cosmic tidal flood may drench lhe fire of Hell’s eternal grate? What cataract of tears may quench The fiercer flame of Hate? ‘There is (or was) a Thing of Clay That stirs (er stirred) the ireful glow ‘That burns (or burned) my soul away; 1 have (or had) a Foe. s uncouth mien, his vapid face I scom to paint; let others dwell Upon his dam-ned commonpl Offense of “meaning well Ice Let other tongues recount his crimes! But surely, even Merey shuns ‘The pest who babbles puerile rhymes And simple-minded puns. And what can save the crude butioon Who loves his own loud voice to hear, Who drenes bad music cut-of-tune And whistles in one’s car? His clothes were loud; his forehead shone, He shaved his neck; he banged his haic; And when one scught to be alone, Behold, the oaf was there! Full oft when Laughter’s merry gales Procliimed that Care was on the shelf, He told, and telling, spoiled the tales I meant to tell, myself. Or when, to strike the tennis ball I swung my racquet, spoiling sport He had the impudence to call My name across the court! Yet, though he stole my pinkest shirt And with my coat his person clothed, I still forbore to do him hurt; 1 pitied while I loathed. Kut Pity’s gate to him I shut, My wrath was not to be appeased, When, as I was about to putt, With foul intent, he sneezed! And when that casy putt | missed And loud he laughed in rauceus gh “Revenge! revenge!” I hoarsely: hissed; (For few can hiss like me!) Oh, craftily I planned his door In stealthy wiys that none might guess I schemed to plunge his light in gloom To work his seul’s distress. Fer first to wreck his rest and thought Te wring his being’s inmost core, ‘Three fiendish brazen bands I bought To bray before his door. ‘The little beys, by me advised, With strings his shadewed pathway cross And in his name I advertised For dogs he had not lest. AY gents fanned his wrath; And when (his ways to me were known), 1 knew that he was in his bath, I called him on the ‘phone. So thus with craft beyond belief 1 wrought upon his heart and brain Until, by dint of rage and grief, I drove the wretch insane! Yet, mark yeu now: Though walls immure The frame, the soul is unsubdued. Whatever comes, the dolt is sure Of shelter, clothes and food. ‘The cost of living all forgot, His peaceful mind may now relax. The League of Nations irks him not, Nor strike, nor income tax. As mortal thinketh, so he is,” Pronounce the Wise whose words have weight; Then what a pleasant doom is his Whose thoughts are grand and great! He dreams that he’s a billionaire! And is he heppy? Why, of course! He dwells in visions bright and fair Remorse! remorse! remorse! National Pastimes Russia counterfeiting. Spain bulling along. The United States bootlegging. Poland pogroming. France gathering up her ruins, England collecting colonies. Japan collecting Chinese gardens. Italy playing boom-a-laddie-boom. Germany laid up with Katzenjammer. 3 Looking Forward eth a full man,” according to Here's hoping. “Reading the quotation. Sure Thing Customer —-And do you canned beef? Grocery Clerk (just back from overseas)—Why, madam, I have eaten nothing else for the last two years. recommend _ this comicbooks.co