Judge — July 29, 1922 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

Once Upon a Time HE other day at Scheveningen, Holland, where little children play on a gaudy white beach that fringes the cold sea, three gala carriages belonging to former Emperor William of Germany were exhibited in the garage of a hotel to be sold at public auction. Hundreds of curious spectators filed past the archaic vehicles, servants stopped to giggle in derision at the crests of the Hohenzollerns adorning the bodies of the carriages. Publicans and sinners, American tourists, Dutch merchants, and soldiers of William's conquerors jingled the silver trimmings which will be offered with each carriage. So glory pas: The old coaches of royalty are as useless to-day as monarchy in a democratic world. They are stilted in the air, high and futile, as easily tipped over as Washington's carriage at Mount Vernonand they are asutterly useless for loco- motion as the stage coach used in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show. Yet only a decade ago William the second rode on these leather springs, amid a gawking populace that knew that steel really was better than leather. Only eight years ago, royalty mounting in stepladders to its awkward carriage rode through our modern world with its modern ideals, its modern applia: , its modern irations, pretending that these modernities were phantasms and that only the old flubdubbery of kings was real. And then bang went the ol that killed the Serbian grand duke and the dream vanished. And at Scheveningen in Holland, a little fragment blown out of the middle ages is put up at auction, And the children playing on the gay beach by the cold sea, looking at the garish trappings of yesterday's dream, will only think of the day of our folly when the world kept kings as ‘once upon a time.” The Summer’s Persiflage s the Senator from Alabama to the Senator “ JAR! L from Virginia. “Falsifier!” calls the Senator from Virginia to the Senator from California. : “Gentlemen!” s the Senator from Georgia to both, he having a keen sense of humor and a quick wit in thinking up the funniest things to say! What with a right jab and some clever footwork in May; a challenge to the cloakroom in early June, and such merry persiflage as that between the Senators from Virginia and Ala- bama two weeks later, the summer is gradually transforming that great buc' ng body into one of our most thrilling ringsides. If the direct primary has done nothing else it has converted what was once a rich men’s club into a rather gala coliseum. There every form of man or beast that the broad prairies, the high mountains, or the sandy beaches can afford meets its kind in gladiatorial contest where lungs and brawn and good hind legs do the work once done by mere brains. When the Congressional Record crowds out the Police Gazette as a dispenser of the news of real sport, the great plain people have no serious complaint at the god-like aloofness of the American House of Lords. The Admonitions of McCumber ATOR McCUMBER has ed an admonition to S the manufacturers and retailers who will profit by the high tariff which he is pushing through Congress. His admonition begs them to be as gentle as possible, and not push their profits to a point where the people will rebel. June, following its well-known policy of standing for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, will give a beautiful oil painting of the profiteer splitting his booty fifty-fifty with the customers under the shadow of the tariff wall. This beautiful and touching picture of the profiteer kissing his victim as he EDITORIAL By WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE 16 presses the loot into the customer's grateful hands will be given to every customer who gets his share. A companion picture of Senator McCumber slapping the profiteer on the wrist as the robber eviscerates his prey with McCumber’s corn knife, will be given to any tariff baron who can prove that he performed a painless extraction. Sacrificing the Queens N TWO States, Minnesota and Wisconsin, the Democrats have regularly nominated women as candidates for the United States Senate to oppose Senator Kellogg and Sena- tor LaFollette. In one case the Democratic leaders do not want to beat Kellogg and in the other case they know they can’t beat LaFollette. So they lead queens. But some day these sharks who are playing the game so carefully will be fooled, and a woman will appear and will scratch and bite where Tom Watson biffs and Jim Watson pollyfoxes. As it is, the Senate is about sixty per cent. fem- inine; it is a compromise between a granny grunt and a tem- peramental actorine. Get half a dozen good old girls in the Senate and we shall have enough masculinity in their natures to reduce the catty complex of the present personnel of the Senate and give it a red-blooded he-American aspect that it has lacked for the last two decades. Medill’s Billions GTins ae MEDILL McCORMICK is tossing the bil- lions around the Senate much like our old friends, the Populists. He insists that the Republicans have saved the country billions in taxes, billions in appropriations and Heaven alone knows what other billions in executive efficiency. Give Medill another two years of the Harding administra- tion and he will have the whole appropriation bill eliminated and the Government operated by hot air, the income taxes paid by the interest on the public debt and the Government payroll met by the militia, the fire department, the silver cornet band, and a committee on reception. Senator McCormick is the man who put the mists in all the optimists. An Overcrowded Calling HE labor mix-up has developed that we have in America a scarcity of skilled labor, of builders of various sorts, of workers in iron and stone and wood. In the American country town, which of old used to feed apprentices and journeymen into the mill of our great cities, the apprentice in any useful calling is almost unknown. The newspaper office is always looking for an office devil. The carpenter is always eager for a helper. The blacksmith, the painter, the stone- mason and the shoemaker—all are old men. When the present generation of skilled labor dies it would seem that their art might die with them. But down in the garage the car flies are so thick you can stir them with a spoon. Out at the hangar the youth of the countryside is doing the ornate standing around while the workmen sweat and the farmer boy won't come to town unless he can ride in the car and have change for the movie. Youth will have its way, but it’s a mighty poor way if the next gener- ation is going to pay for its meal ticket. About the only calling in the United States to-day over- crowded with youth is social secretary to the purveyor of soda swills. There the youth of the land is getting duck legged squatting on stools, and is so inveterately pressing up against the counter that it has gouged a bar crease across its belly. It remains to be seen whether or not that calling will buy shoes for the baby and keep mamma in bridge money. If it fails, this country is in for a bad quarter of a century.