Judge — July 1, 1922 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

Given Jack Dempsey as Senator from California in place of the drab and reactionary Shortridge, and Jess Willard from Kansas, replacing Curtis, the Republican whip, and the Senate would have a cloture that would really clout. A lot of the persiflage and buncombe ranging from libel to blackguarding that passes for Senatorial debate would disappear with the presence in the Senate of a few Senators whose toe work and left jabs were subconsciously written into the rules of the Senate. If Senator Tom Watson would paste aSenator now and then, rising to a question of personal privilege, the cloture in the Senate would be much more effective than it is now. rr Bowing to public sentiment, which demands highly moral chorus girls, Ziegfeld of the “Follies” ix letting a lady go because she was talked about. Gosh! What if the Presi- dent felt that way about E. Mont, Reilly and Harry Daugherty? Ziegfeld ought to remember that these are the days when you stand by your friends. as Hard Sledding for Kings D te News from Budapest indicate that in Hungary the Monarchists ran no better than in Indiana and Pennsylvania, and were incontinently swatted by the electorate in the spring elections. The Hungarian Social Democrats seem to have everything their own way. This would hardly seem to mean much to the unsocial American Democrats led by such remote and exclusive spirits as Wood- row Wilson, but at least the Budapest returns gloom up the horizon for kings. The king business on this planet is getting to be a bum trade. Since the Czar lost his head, and Joseph his throne, and Wilhelm his Gott mit Uns, luck has been running against royalty; indeed if the British King should lose Lloyd George, and the King of Italy lose his rabbit’s foot with the Italian Socialists, Alphonso of Spain would be about the only king in the deck. Monarchy in Hungary is on the same slippery slide leading into oblivion upon which the powers of royalty have been riding for the past 200 years. Massachusetts papers please copy. Friends of Lodge, please write. er Speaking of Ziegfeld's desire to make a Sunday school out of his “Follies” by making the girls in the show 100 per cent. Puritans, don't forget that Pershing appeared at a Washington reception the other day without his puttees in trousers with cuffs to match. In another ten years going out without an um- brella will be the only risky thing an American can do. Rated The Sporadic Killer Tien other day, near the Texas-Okla- homa border, “out where the West begins” to get wild and woolly, the city marshal walked up to the neighbor- hood bad man and said, “You are under arrest.” Whereupon the killer answered, “Hell, you're out of luck!” And from the coat pocket of the marshal an automatic broke into the dialogue, and so St.Peter had anew face at his gate. After which the sub- sequent proceedings are veiled in mystery, and it’ will take the announcement of the official count to determine the final result. But this much we do know. The killer was a local hero. For in the rain and the cold wind of a belated spring hundreds of admirers walked out to the cemetery to sce him buried. How. we love the man-killer, if he is not a sneak and a mealy-mouth about his bloody business. Literature is full of heroes who devoted themselves to manslaughter in various forms. More or less they were upholding virtue. But it was not for up- holding virtue that we gave them our hearts, but for spilling human blood. “Another redskin bit the dust,” and millions of youths turned the page eagerly to encounter the next homicide. Wild Bill, Deadwood Dick, Billy the Kid, Jesse James, the long and glorious procession of bloodthirsty frontiersmen files by amid the plaudits of the multitude. Even now, upon the screen, public sentiment, which often gags at a gummed and irregular adultery, gulps down a clean murder without a blink. Yet, outside of war, the ‘gentle art of murdering” is falling into desuetude and decay. The city gunman is no worthy successor of Robin Hood or Captain Kidd. The city gunman is a pale, doped, pimply imitation, with patent leather hair and the heart of a cake-eater; cocaine gives him his courage, and city boss rule gives him protection. Murder to be done with a glamour should be done “in the great open spaces,”” when men meet man to man and eye to eye, in “God's great out-of-doors,” in short. So.the killer, who pervaded literature a generation ago, appears only sporadically. He is going to hunt the dodo and the claim-jumper. “God's great out-of-doors” is being fenced and plowed and sold in forty- acre lots with a mortgage. And the killer, who once was as necessary to a county seat war as a trick mule to a circus, is slowly passing out of life into song and story. Doubtless we shall have a generation with us soon which shall hold murder to be highly reprehensible and sometimes a disreputable busi- ness, So does the millennium draw near. Rata Friend Will Hays calls upon the American people to help him reform the movies. What's Will drawing. that hundred and fifteen thousand for? Buck up, old man, play ball, do it yourself! Earn your salary! You don't hear Landis asking us to help out on his job. Get in the game, Will, get in the gamel de I heliliys Wl Ae d an Wile il THE FOURTH OF JULY CIGAR How to protect the original investment. 17 comicbooks.com