Judge — October 8, 1921 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

By Joun Hetp, Ju, and Georce Mitcnet. DU BARRY When Louey Cansassumed the throne of France,. Du Barry led his nobs a merry dance; And tho she painted Paris red, She stubbed her toe and lost her head— Which rather put a crimp in her romance. A Pri-mer of the Film Folk By Harry J. SMALLEY “The Vill-ain.” HERE is a mean guy! He is the vill-ain. He is the he-ro’s door-mat but there is no “Wel-come” on him be- cause he nev-er is. He’s the fel-low who puts the ki-bosh on lov-ing hearts and tries to bust them a-sund-er. Yes, sir, he tears up the child, steals the pa-pers, and sets fi-re to the as-best-os fact-o-ry where the he-ro is the fore- man. He is as mean as a bad cold in the head and as hard to shake as Pike’s Peak. He is the on-ly thing left in these here Vol-stead-ed U-nit-ed States that can stag-ger hu-man-i-ty, as far as we per-son-al-ly know. Ha, ha! He is a bad bad man, and he has as man-y friends in the op-ti-ence as a coot-ie had in your reg-i-ment, ’mem-ber? He takes to crime like a lad-y with cu-pid-bow neth-ers takes to long skirts, and if we were not pos-i-tive he would be squelched in the fi-nal reel it would spoil our whole e-ven-ing. He should be killed and we go to see him killed, and if he is al- lowed to live we feel we have been cheat-ed. Once up-on a time they showed a pict-ure in which the vill-ain was not squashed in the last reel and the op-ti- ence holl-ered for its mon-ey back. Hon-est. When he makes love to the he-ro-ine we know, if the gur-rul does-n’t, that he is just kid-ding her and we feel like call-ing the ush-er and hav-ing him thrown out in-to Main Street and turned o-ver to the con-sta-ble. He is dev-el-ish in his hate and dog-gone con- trar-y in se-lect-ing a tar-get for his so as to say love. With twen-ty mill-ion gur-ruls to pick on he in-sists on lov-ing the he-ro’s stead-y. If an-y one ev-er ac- cus-es this guy of ten- der-ness we will de-fend him in an-y court and lay eight to five we spring him. He is as crook-ed as those bor-der lines be-tween Sloska-Cevak and G-hray-ni-um and his milk of hu-man kind-ness would sour six lem-ons. The bot-tom of a coal mine in Af-ri-ca at midnight is daz-zling white com-pared to his in a man-ner of speak-ing soul and an X-ray would cer-tain-ly re-veal i-ci-cles on his heart. He is the rea-son the word “or-ner-y” was placed in Mist-er Web-ster’s nov-el and he has no more use for in-no-cence than Ad-am had for gar-ters. He’s as pop-u-lar as pen-ur-y and as full of cuss-ed-ness as Cong-ress is of gas. The vill-ain is not near-ly as pret-ty as the he- ro but he has lots of foll-ow-ers. Ev- er-y-body chase-s him. Foiled “T know a place,” sings the singer— Great interest evinced by aud- ience. After- dinner nappers awake, the list- less listen, the heedless hearken. “—_Where the fo-our-leaf clo-over grows!” Great disappointment. ence resumes its nap. The audi- In Spite of Him Hicks—My little old home-town had just two thousand inhabitants when I left it fifteen years ago, and to-day it has just two thousand in- habitants. Ville—Fine! Aren't you proud to find it holding its own? Tommy—Say, Sis, you’ve had good luck gettin’ money out o’ Dad —won't you please cry for me? 17 comicbooks.com