Judge — March 15, 1924 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

Editors: Douglas H. Cooke Norman Anthony William Morr: W The Oily Boid Ballet (From the Follies of Washington) Dramatis PERSONAE Oily Boids, The Members of the Senate Public Lands Committee Woims, Various Witnesses before the Senate Public Lands Committee Lobster eters .-Mr. Vanderlip Marion, the Belligerent Starfish The Marion Star SCENE—Sunrise on the sands of Palm Beach. In the back- ground is the ocean with the sun just peeping above the horizon. The waves are smooth and heavy and iridescent as if weighted with a light film of oil. In the foreground. reclining as if asleep on the,beach, is a little group of human figures, fat and pink, in tight, flesh-colored bathing suits. As the light strengthens they stir to a sitting posture. Each raises to his lips with a flourish an open teapot like a stein. Openinc Cuorus (Tune—Johnny Harvard) Oh, here's to Harry Sinclair, Fill him up a teapot, Fill him up a teapot to his name and fame; And at the same time don’t forget Doheny, Fill him up a bumper to the brim. Drink, drink, drink, drink, Pass the oil-cup free; Clink, clink, clink, clink, Jolly woims are we. Free from care and despair, what care we, Tis oil despoil’d that gives us jollity. The Oily Boids, armed with artificial forefingers very long and sharply pointed, enter on the run, their senatorial togas streaming in the wind, their angelic wings flapping. They round up into a single line facing the audience and sing, punctuating their lines with menacing thrusts forward of their long forefingers: Cuorus (Tune—Our Director) Hard luck . . . for poor old Den-by! Tough on McAdoo; Now, all together, Smash them and break through-0-00-0-00-00-00-00-00-00! ’Gainst . . . the line of bush-wa They will recoil . . . Three cheers for Ho-kum! And down with Oil! Rah! Rah! Rah! (Shouted.) Scene 2. The Woims rise to their feet in dismay. As they do they are charged by the Oily Boids, cach one of whom impales a Woim with his deadly forefinger. agony, chant dolefully: The Woims, writhing in rhythmic Cuorus (Tune—Gentlemen Rankers) To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned, To all brethren suff’ring torments such as these, Sing some gentlemen of fortune, freshly oiled but badly jammed, And troopers of the Temptress, if you please. Yea, troopers of the forces that ways played the horses, And faith they’ve gone the pace and gone it blind, And the World was more than kin while they held the scandal in, But to-day the Senate’s something less than kind. We're poor little woims who've lost our way. Baa! Baa! Baa! We're little black slugs who’ve gone astray, Baa—aa i Political tankers out on a spree, Damned from here to Eternity, God ha’ merey on such as we, Baa! Yah! Bah! The Woims sink to the sand inert. a long upper Vanderlip. LOBSTER (addressing the startled Oily Boids): So you think you’re pretty good, don’t you, spearing a bunch of insignificant caterpillars. Why, you're nothing but a lot of pee-wees. What we need is a flock of buzzards—real scaven- gers—who won’t stop at anything on the beach. Bet you don’t dare tackle that starfish yonder (pointing to Marion who in the meantime has entered quietly and paused a little distance to the right). Look at her front porch! She’s so full of oil she can hardly waddle. Enter the Lobster, pulling Marion, the Belligerent Starfish, approaches the group with surprising agility for one 0 porchly. She faces the Lobster and breaks in heatedly: Who said I'm full of oil When I’m simply full of water? This guy has slandered me And he knew he hadn’t orter. MARION (to Lobster): eye to the tune of $600,000.) LOBSTER (retreating as he wipes his eye): have performed a great public service. ALL THE OILY BOIDS (in chorus): *twixt the truth and the Vanderlip. Take that! (She jabs him in the I feel that I There's many a slip They seat themselves on the prostrate forms of their respective Woims. It is afternoon and the slanting, golden light filtering through the palms settles upon the scene of carnage like a bene- diction. They sing: Cosine Cuorus (Tune—Die Wacht am Rhein) Bright Coolidge years with pleasures rife, The shortest, gladdest years of life, How quickly are ye gliding by! Oh, why does time so swift! The scandals come, the scandals go, The earth is green or white with snow Yet time and cha-a-ange but make us boil For God, for Cou-u-untry versus OIL! CURTAIN.