Judge — May 29, 1920 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

“Axp Orner Men Win Paint tie Gran Wares We Are Feecixne Bust axp Bap tx Some Far Torrip Crime.” Money Mad By Watt Mason Illustration by Ravpu HE people all seem money mad, they wildly play the game; to gain another shining scad is each one’s highest aim. Myself, I do not kick at cash, I like my share of I do not siy that coin is trash, or dross that we snould shun. T make no pious rigmarole with halo on my brow; [ like to have a little roll with which to choke a cow. But there are other wholesome joys than gathering the dough; and I feel sorry for the boys who this much do not know; who pass up every kind of fun, to gain another wheel another slice of germ-proof mon, to put in vaults of steel. [let not carning interfere with burning gasoline, when comes the springtime of the year, and woods and fields are green. Then in my car I jaunt abroad along the dusty road, and not to an ode. The bt r lyre, and we will And 1 rem: there'll be ers of dlouble up my wad would I such rhythmic junk exclaim, “Produce y pay a silver plunk for anthem full of fire.” “The day is fine, the roads are good, L ween honest toil in mine—I’m burning gasoline! The towns are full of crazy men who hustle till they dic Another plunk! Another yen!” is evermore their ery And they forget the words of fate some elder prophet said “When man is boxed up in a erate, he'll be a long tim i We'll be a long time dead, my lads, when we are lying low; Mpose no dead BARTON and men will still be chasing scads and piling up the dough. Your children will be having fun, forgetful how you slaved and lawyers will be blowing mon some other fellows saved So trot al the gl crowd; you can’t go fishing when you're dead, or in a shroud mg with buoyant tread, and joi Id Save ny days that men she there's notning like a stack of ore when ra extravagance is I've always siid, and say once more, and thriv arrive. ve wrong; there's nothing like some pickled bones when sickness It always makes me feel distressed when money always sid, in stentor tones comes along. melts like icc become a vice. but virtue, when too sorely pressed, may’ well And too much salting money” down becomes the miser greed: to go at times and paint the town is still a human need So let us duly paint the town and paint it brilliant red; for when we lay our weapons down, we'll be a long time dead And other men will paint the grad, and have at corkin| when we are feeling bum and bad in some far torrid cli And other boys will ride abroad like Cleo in her b: other sports will blow the wad we struggled to enlarge. And other maniacs will whiz through town, and break the law; and other girls will drink their fizz, with rapture, through a straw And wh sleep it is the end of plenty dearth; no gent can on carth ave his tomb and spend the coin comicbooks.com