Judge — February 4, 1922 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

the English. And now the great hulking yokels from this new-rich crazy world come haw-hawing into Paris, opening windows into musty rooms in the Quai d'Orsay, kicking down secret doors in jubilant desire to impose another civil- ization upon one that well satisfies the French. So then— behold France, la belle France walks out and grabs that dove of peace, which is the incarnation of all this idiotic gibbering in an orderly material world, and France brazenly wrings the foul bird's neck and smiles while it flops itself to death. If it does flop itself to death France will go back to her dream and perfect herself in what the amiable Thack- eray calls “the gentle art of murdering.” And if she is re- minded that millions of those noisy, yawping, democratic youths are sleeping in French soil, who died there for the very things their brothers so loudly are demanding—Ob, well, shrugs la petite dame sans merci, it is the war! And slams down the shutters of the old world in the eager faces of the new. A NEW CALL TO ARMS HESE are sad days for the down-trodden and op- pressed business man. In Congress the agricultural bloc biffs him gently on the pocket nerve and paralyzes his industry. In business he is afflicted with organized finance, which clips his credit, and organized labor which curtails his profits. In politics he is assessed for “benefits forgot!” In religion he is forever being jammed through the eye of the needle, and in society he is compelled to be as dry as the camel that could not get through the eye of the needle. The income tax garrotes him with its higher brackets. The inheritance tax waits for him just around the corner from the undertaker. All his life is one succession of bumps, modified by intermittent jolts. No wonder it is that as good a citizen as Otto H. Kahn oe ag ce St Be: Wan by Joux Conactter “For heaven's sake, Angeline, make is sending an S. O. S. letter to a committee of American business men, in which he asks “Shall Business Organize for Its Own Protection?” In the meantime, the President of the U. S., his Secretary of War and his good friend Nichclas Murray Butler, president of Columbia University, are sounding the tocsin against the embattled farmers, who are forming a group of politicians quite outside the party in the West and South, to do the things which the West and South feel necessary for the development and maintenance of prosperity in the West and South; things which are mostly to be done to the business men of the North and East. The business man who carries more than six figures after his name is having a lonesome time. Some sort of society for the prevention of cruelty to our millionaires should be established. When a man gets so far down and out that he has nothing but his millions between him and starvation Steps Should Be Taken and probably Resolutions Should Be Passed. A home for indigent capitalists might be provided; indeed we have several such homes, and when we get a poor devil into one, as we once had Charles W. Morse, he is ruthlessly and incontinently pardoned out by some reckless President, and sent to work piling up other more or less crooked millions, to his great discredit and his coun- try’s loss. The millionaire is one of the problems which the war has left us, and in our lowered standard of morals the hopelessly rich are scandalously neglected, poor creatures, and some day the breed may run out. The clarion note of Otto H. Kahn should ring across the land and arouse us before it is everlastingly too late. The Soviet of the ungodly rich will be the next pink peril to set our teeth chattering! Who will be the Lenine of the long-suffering plutocracy? Whe the Trotsky of the voiceless rich? that dog of yours stop looking at me like that!”