Judge, 1921-12-17 · page 9 of 36
Judge — December 17, 1921 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis for Modern Readers This page contains three humorous pieces from Judge magazine: 1. **"Christmas" by Battell Loomis**: A poem welcoming Father Christmas back, celebrating the festive spirit. It addresses various ethnic groups ("Ignatz," "Johann," "Li Hung," "Luis") with inclusive goodwill—reflecting early 20th-century America's immigrant diversity. The repeated references to "red blood" emphasize vitality and shared humanity across these groups. 2. **"The Care of Spats" by John H. McNeely**: A satirical essay treating spats (ankle coverings worn over shoes—a fashionable accessory of the era) as if they were high-maintenance pets requiring constant vigilance. The humor lies in the exaggerated solemnity applied to a trivial fashion concern. 3. **"The Test" by Ruth Bassett**: A brief, cynical poem suggesting that how a man behaves when someone accidentally hits his golf ball reveals his true character—saint or devil. The cartoon shows a domestic scene of gift-giving, with a child requesting toys rather than practical clothing.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Christmas By Battell Loomis A WELCOME to old + Father Christmas! 2 Jovially back on the job! Grinning from Great Lakes to Isthmus Greetings to Ignatz and Bob, Greetings to Yen and to Henry, To Johann and Li Hung and Jim, To Luis and Louis and Lewis— What does blood matter to him? So long as it’s red blood and lusty, So long as it paints lips that laugh, So long as it never gets musty? Blood that lends brilliance to chaff? That is the liquor for Santa, Hearts over-full are his flasks; So here’s a rouse without a carouse In the juice that Peace-on-Earth asks: Red blood! May it warm all good fellows! Red blood! May it paint dainty cheeks! May it flow in your bones and your bellows, While cheer thrives through days into weeks. May your Christmas good humor stay with you, While you work out a future all gold, May your blood tell a story of prog- ress You'll brag about after you're old! So here’s a Merry Christmas full of gifts and grins and jests! (Say, youse! If you’re Americans, git them grouches off your chests!) The Care of Spats By John H, McNeely PROBABLY no greater responsi- bility can be undertaken by a man in his journey over the rough road of life than the care of a pair of spats. This is due in a measure to the fact that spats require painstaking atten- tion, are cantankerous and extremely difficult to tame. No spats are satis- fied to remain quiet. They are con- stantly on the move, either maliciously slipping down or cautiously scrambling up on the feet, thus compelling an The one load dad is glad to bear. “Say! incessant adjustment either of the buttons or the strap that runs under the nether part of the shoes. Spats, too, have absolutely no sense of clean- liness, and during bad weather always splash themselves with mud and mire. In this instance they require a thorough going-over with a curry- comb. The habitue of spats—for, indeed, one does not really wear spats, but on the contrary in- habits them—is kept in an eternal state of nervous anxiety over them, as he can never be certain what they will do next. The only time that spats are amenable to discipline is at night, when they can be depended upon to lie dor- mant for a few hours, thus giving their owner sur- cease from his arduous vigilance over them. But 7 s Mother, when ye buy my Christmas presents, don’t get a lot 0’ stockings an’ underwear an’ stuff like that, ’cos I got too many o’ the darn things already.” notwithstanding the tremendous labor and nervous tension connected with a pair of spats, many men still con tinue to buy them and, in addition, take pride in their proprietorship. In truth, owners of spats cannot keep their eyes off of them and seem to relish the fact that they can’t. THE TEST By Ruth Bassett I’ every man there is heaven; In every man there is a bit of hell: And whether he is mostly saint or devil, Play his golf-ball by mistake and you can tell. a bit of NOMENCLATURE Usually a railroad train on which there is no sleeper, no diner, no smoker, no water, no ventilation, no porter, and no newsbutcher, is termed an “accommodation train.”