Judge — August 20, 1921 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

ae See 2 ee eee ee! | IF YOV CANT GET A MAN E SeT Als GORT “ALAS,” SHE CRIED WITH FRENZIED YIPS, “THIS CURSE OF Old King Co old soul, and a jolly old soul was he; he called for his pipe and he called for his bowl, and he called for his fiddlers three.” So we’re informed by Mother Goose, whose tales of old were spun; this Old King Cole, of morals loose, was bound to have some fun. Fa- tigued by governing his realm, he longed to have a fling; for cares of state will overwhelm the most attrac- tive king. The varlet brought the king his pipe (a present from the queen), a good old briar, rank and ripe and soaked with nicotine. The monarch filled his pipe with shag and lit a par- lor match, when up there stepped an ancient hag who had a store-made thatch. She jerked the briar from his lips and soaked him on the bean; “Alas,” she cried, with frenzied yips, “this curse of nicotine! I represent the Old Maids’ Club, a club that’s nobly planned, and we've resolved no smoking dub shall rule our native ‘O LD KING COLE was a jolly By Warr Mason Illustration by RALPH BARTON land. This smoking is a senseless craze, and chewing is a crime; tobac- co kills off countless jays long years before their time. No doubt, O king, you’ll punish me for handing you that biff; perhaps you'll hang me to a tree, or push me from a cliff. But I'll be martyred with delight, now that I’ve made my spiel; and when you go to roost to-night, some conscience- pangs you'll feel.” The monarch called the Royal Guard, a bunch of soldiers bold, and had the female friec in lard, as sun- set bells were tolled. Then for his bowl he loudly called; he needed one good drink, for cares of state had made him bald, and put him on the blink. The lord high butler then brought in a dish of lemonade; perhaps it had a dash of gin—I know not how ’twas made. The monarch took it, for his frame required that flowing bowl; but through the window then there came Inspector Hiram Hole. He snatched the beaker from the king, and smelled it with his nose, and cried, 19 NICOTINE!” le “This poison drink, by jing, came from no garden hose. I am the boss of nineteen cops who've trailed you for a year; we know that you’ve been buying hops, and hops are used for beer. I'll have this beaker analyzed, and if it stains things red, you need not be a bit surprised if you should lose your head.” The poor old king was sad and sore, his breast was full of pains; he called his fiddlers three or four, to soothe him with their strains. The fiddlers started good and strong, with “Turkey in the Straw’; and then a censor came along and talked about the law. “This ragtime stuff,” he said, “is banned, this music now must cease; and all your fiddlers must be canned if you would reign in peace. These jazz things are a punk disease that fills the world with woe; the Better Element decrees that naught but hymns will go.” Then Old King Cole he tied a rock around his neck, they say, and took a long and weary walk that ended in the bay. comicbooks.com