Judge — September 17, 1921 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

aie G10 DAYS AT, OURRISKS NO MONEY DOWN # ince name und | 3 brings, oe Hind Dat inte eetir ii Sta t home. ; wien tne Al nd Low A Mer. a DLER PEAK, i (4737 Broadway Chicago, Mm. > BE A DETECTIVE Ex Bi Meo Great demand. Experience unneci suury. Pa ticulars free. Write, American Detective System, *°“* If you don’t read Film Fun you don't get all the movie news The October issie now be tug sold by’ your newsdealer in Film You get ¢ At your nearest newsdealer, VOI" erything HENRY ROMEIK 106-110 Seventh Avenue The Passing of the Buck By BENJAMIN DE CASSERES | The Great God Alibi | ALDEMAR YOUNG, of San \ \ Francisco, the man who did the perfect scenario in “Suds,” which Mary Pickford starred in, has turned sculptor during his leisure hours. His first masterpiece is in bronze called “The Great God | Alibi Passing the Buck.” He will urge Congress to plant it on Bedloe’s Island in place of Old Lady Liberty, who holds a can of wood alcohol in one hand and a ouija board in the other. | Everybody i buck in Amer to-day passing the Can you alibi your | private stock? Look out for the Big Gum Shoe when you laugh. What right has JUDGE to the mails?—it causes people to unwrinkle. Things just happen—nobody is responsible. Pass the buck! Get an alibi! Gloom- venders and Blue Law Blooeys every- where. There's a warrant out for you for being born. Being born is immoral in Pennsylvania. Now to add to the fun along comes Frances Kellor. She asks, Shall American Citizenship Be Com- pulsory? I don’t know what answer | she gives in her book, “Immigration | and the Future” (George H. Doran). | Personally, I am going to stop voting. Again, she asks, Shall Immigrant Savings Be Spent in America? What is there to buy since the apparition of | Little Rollo Volstead? I'm an im- | migrant, but I can’t be “assimilated.” Should I be expelled? Memories of a Great Boss WuHatev ER is perfect is in a museum. There is no such thing Woman-——there are only opinions about her. The wish is father to the drink. Watch your step! Your ancestors may have been natural. And so we see old Grant Over- ton laying down his pen as literary editor because his boss would not O. K. an expense slip for an omelette lunch he gave me. Grant hiked it down to Patchogue, | Long Island, where the first Grant 34 as landed with Eric the Rover in 1215, and began to write novels. He had the call. Grant was born with a pen. His latest book is worth the paper it is printed on—and I can’t say that for many novels. He calls it ‘World Without End” (Doubleday, Page & Co.). It deals with the mystery of the embittered life of Martin L’Hom- medieu and laid its shadow over his beautiful daughter. And Grant is some shadow-layer. The types really live in this book. It is a story that will keep you up at night beyond the hot-toddy hour. Grand Old Syd FTER I had written an unusually brilliant article for JUDGE about five years ago a man met me on the street and said with an unclubby air: “Hah! I see you are cribbing from O. Henry!” “Wait, my friend,” said I, drawing him into Don Marquis’ lair, “I'll tell you a story.” “Once upon a time a man came up to O. Henry on the street in just the way you came up to me and said, ‘Hah! I see you are imitating Guy De Maupassant!’ ” ““T never read a line of Cuy in my life!’ said the celebrated Syd Porter, as he batted his friend in the eye. “Now I, my dear fellow, | have never read a line of O. Henry!” With this Don gave him the rasp- berry. That was five years ago. Since then I have read almost all of the great O.’s stuff. Joy galore! Now comes to my desk some more of those pippins from the pen of the only historian New York ever had— the man who said that it was the dream of nine hundred and ninety- nine out of every thousand Amer- icans to some day live in New York, und who also said that he didn’t know who the Pilgrim Fathers were. but if they ever attempted to land here again he could lick 'em! “Rolling stones,” by O. Henry (Doubleday, Page & Co.). Need I tell you to read this book? I won’t in- sult your intelligence. PRESS OF WILLIAM ORPEN, NEW YORK comicbooks.com