Judge — April 9, 1921 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

Drawn by T. S. Tovstr Biue-Law Mortner-Goose “Bic Boy Bive, come BLow your HORN, Tue LAMBS ARE GAMBOLING ON SUNDAY MORN.” iron, Nobleacts, approved by God; not sinful sports like thes Oh, please!” begged Miss Huckett. ‘You must not tell about that. You must not say anything like that in the speeches you have promised to make for our cause. You understand, of course,” she added, turning to me, “that we don’t want to bring back the burning of witches. * Lasked. she said firmly. ‘‘Nor the hounding of Quakers. We only want back the good old Puritan Sabbath.” “With sermons three and four hours long. and hymns without pipe organs, and prayers an hour long, and every one fined that does not go to church,” said Stewed Fish eagerly. “And profanation of the Lord's day punishable with death, as in New Haven in my day.” Miss Huckett hesitated. “That would be sweet,” she said, “but don’t you think it would be a little severe, Mr, Fish?” “Not if I'm going to stay here,” Constantly Stewed replied. “I went to New England from old England to have things as I wanted them; I'll not stay here unless they are the way I want them, “But the rights of others? “Others hav “Intolerance is my motto.” I asked. no rights,” he answered. Drown by Carvent Surr The Blue La “But we don’t want to be intolerant,” said Miss Huckett gently. “We merely want to tell every one what he has to do.” “Very well,” said Stewed Fish. ‘* Permit it to be so.” He smiled meaningly. “They only want to step on your toes,” he said tome. “ And before they know it they will step on your stomach. And then they'll step on your neck. And then they'll step on your face That suits me. Intolerance—that’s the keynote. A little at first and then more and more.” Miss Huckett looked at the lanky ghost doubtfully. “You are talking as if you were running this movement,” she said resentfully. ‘You are not, you know. You can’t make rules for us, you know, Mr. Fish. This is our turn, We don’t want interference. We're going to be intolerant in our way, not in your way.” Mr. Constantly Stewed Fish glared at her. “You'll come to it,” he declared. And in the meanwhile we will abolish all Sunday pleasures.” “Absolutely!” said Miss Huckett. “And a good thing to do,” said Mr. Stewed Fish to me. “Who needs pleasures on Sunday? Give me the fine old Puri- tan Sabbath, with long sermons, nasal hymns and plenty of hard cider and rum—" “What!” cried Miss Huckett aghast. “Rum? Hard cider?” And good old ‘flip,’” cried Mr. Fish, licking his lips. “Flip made of home-brewed beer, sugar and a liberal slosh of Jamaica rum, with a red-hot poker jammed into it until it boils! Fine stuff at noon on a cold Sabbath, between sermons! Rum, that’s the idea! Give me a few Quakers to mutilate, a couple of witches to burn alive, a nice quiet Sabbath and a couple of barrels of rum and I don’t want any ball games or movies.” “But wait!” cried Miss Huckett. “Wait! We don’t allow rum now. We don’t permit hard cider. That has already been forbidden.” Mr. Constantly Stewed Fish looked at her in blank zement. “What! no rum?” he exclaimed. ‘You want me to stand an old-fashioned New gland Sabbath with no rum on Sabbath or week-days, eithe He shook his head sadly. “Verily, verily,” he cried, “you are insane! We would all be insane. I see this is no place forme. I could stand the Puritan plan, but this is more than even I could stand.” yer—No MoE uuNTING on SuNDAy Now, YouNG MAN! et SS NY ST comicbooks.com