Judge — September 3, 1921 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

ident of these more or less Prohibitionary States of Amer- ica, one must have been a poor, bare- foot lad. Whether one’s party politics were Republican, Democratic, So- cialistic or merely Optimistic (the largest political party of them all), one must at least have been demo- cratic in spirit. In those good old days of Democracy, when Uncle Sam was but a big, awkward, growing boy, there was much rough work to be done. We often marvel at the strength of those rugged men whose duties kept them so busy that they hadn’t time to change their clothing nine or ten times a day but went about from morning till night in silk hats and bits of shoestring tied about their collars. However, that is all changed now. Our present concern in convention is to make sure that each succeeding president shall be able to wear his clothing with distinction, stand the daily round of social obligations and possess the savoir faire to politely represent us. As for his official du- ties, there is always the Senate. Well, then, Mr. Harding, having established himself as a man en- dowed with the necessary endurance for social intercourse, and the long- suffering for physical torture, was maligned by his opponents and elected by a bewildered people. His first (and practically his last) official act was his Inauguration. This, however, was not a very heavy task in that it entailed no greater labor than sitting in on an auto- mobile parade, hat in hand, ticking off a smile to the second and read- ing his Inaugural Address (a prom- issory note) prepared with the help of the leaders of his party. From this moment on, the Presi- dent must realize that no matter how alert he may be, he is going to be promptly from six to seven hours behind his schedule; his smile so in- grown as to hurt him ¢rank it up in the morning; his right hand so worn at the end of each handshaking con- test that at the end of four years he is going to crawl into a mummy case for a year’s rest. Mr. Harding must show no aver- sion from the camera fiends (to date he has shown considerable talent in assuaging them) but must with good grace and hearty co-operation allow himself to be shot at four to the sec- ond, smiling, always smiling. He must be able to pick up the T IME was, when, to become Pres- Capitol Punishment Some Harding-Dong Persiflage By Grorce MitTcHELL Sunday rotogravure sections of our newsy little republic and recognize himself welcoming bands of Fiji Is- landers, Central American bandits, Irish presidents, Russian bomb-eat- ers, without a single x mark to indi- cate which is he—smiling, eternally smiling. Drawn by R. B. FULLER. JUST BEFORE YOU WAKE UP IN BED, 14 He must be able to rise from the writing of an Historical Analysis of the American People to crack a bottle of grape juice upon the indignant nose of a battleship whose ancestors were christened in wetter days, or to join a band of merry children on the White House lawn in an egg-rolling debauch, He must, at the opening of the baseball season, throw the first ball and he must do this in the eyes of thirty thousand critics who are more jealous of their National Game than they are of their National Leader. Whether he like it or not, he must play golf and be photographed so doing. It is also an executive duty as imperative as a message to Congress that at least once a month he must make a tour of the country to de- liver from the observation platform speech upon speech, until his official physician comes to his relief with the announcement that he has tonsil- litis or fallen arches. When the Senate so orders, he must be willing to visit European countries or engage in hunting ex- peditions that will take him out of the country until his opponents have all but brought about his impeach. ment. He must encourage all mothers to larger families by the offering of prizes, autographed photographs and other bric-a-brac. He must gallantly submit to the naming for him of cigars, bathing- caps and children, black, white and variegated. We possess a well-founded belief that Mr. Harding didn’t vote for Mr. Cox at the recent Presidential Elec- tion but we are willing to wager an American dollar against a German pfennig that before his term of of- fice is over he’ll wish he had. To Nicotine By C. J. MAHONEY H, Nicotine! In gaseous form, In rings and filaments of blue, From rare cheroot or briar-born, The poet sings his lay of you. ’Tis not by cloudlets, airy thin, My fealty I fain would show, But by the tokens on my chin From maxillary overflow. No sacrificial vapors rise As smokelessly I honor you, But by devotions molarwise Eschewing smoke, I choose to chew. comicbooks.com