Judge — June 3, 1922 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

Revolt of the Girls By Watt Mason ILLusTRATION BY HENry J. Peck T’S jarring and it's jolting, it’s I scandalous, by jings, to see the girls revolting against all old-time things. I see the flappers round me, wherever I may go; they fluster and confound me, and fill my heart with woe. My anguished voice I'm lifting in dreary discontent; “Oh, whither are we drifting?” I ask, in my lament. ‘The sex has gone to Hades,” I cry, my withers wrung; “where are the stately ladies I knew when I was young? The flappers fill the city, they're all the girls we find; and, oh, it is a pity the way they're kalsomined; I see them on the porches, their feet upon the rail; they're smoking ten-cent torches and drinking home - brewed ale.” To seasons past and olden my thoughts torrential flow, to damsels fair and golden, of forty years ago. I think of girls who flirted with me in days gone by, when I, all Sunday- shirted, was quite a handsome guy. used to court Miranda, whose dad was Jabez Wright; I held down their ve- randa on many a summer night; I watched the fireflies bolting around Miranda’s brow, and she was then re- volting, just as the girls do now. “It is against my wishes,” I used to hear her say, “to wash a ton of dishes on each and every day. My mother did such labors, her mother did the same, but I've re- solved, be jabers, that I won't play that game. I am a hu- man _ being. and ere my days are done, I surely count on see- ing my shareof ( whole- some fun. ’m _= tired of washing dishes, I'm tired of sweeping floors, and lovers are poor fishes ¢ who'd keep me at such chores. Nay, nay, I am _ deter- mined to be an actor- ine, and some day, gemm ed and er- mined, I'll dominate the scene. You'll see me, as Ls Elizer, go See sliding o'er the ice; if you've a scheme that’s wiser, pray hand me your advice.” And there was blond Susanna, who clerked in Johnson’s store; she sold the prunes and manna, and found the job a bore. Her gown was long and sweep- ing, it trailed in dust and wet; her orange locks were creeping beneath a funny net. Her waist was, oh, so slender, it must have made her ache; if you had tried to bend her she looked as though she'd break. Her mother used to strap her to keep her form O.K.; she was the sort of flapper they had in that past day. Yet she was always flapping, just as the moderns do, and chinning still and yapping of plans she had in view. “T hope, I'd have you know, sir,” she often said to me, “to quit this moldy grocer, his musty cheese and tea; I’ve sold his boneless herring until my soul is tired; to deeds of lofty daring said soul has long expired. Some morning = . and ‘ “Nay, nay, I am determined to be va an actorine, and some day, gemmed ermined, I'll it you will miss me from Johnson’s jim- crow store; the rising sun will me around this dump no more.” One morning she was missing, just as she said she'd be, and Johnson, he was hissing red oaths in lingoes three. And then one golden summer a circus came to town; it surely was a hummer, and had the blamedest clown. And while the steam pianna played “Wearing of the Green,” we saw once more Susanna —she was the Bareback Queen! Be we awake or napping, obstreperous or still, the flappers go on fiapping, just as they always will! dominate the comicbooks.com