Judge — August 2, 1924 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

YOU AREN'T GOING TO GET OUT TO-NIGHT, YoU REPTILE HERE'S THE TWO CENTS, MA— KOMICS FOR The Singular Success of Sydney Snickerton An authentic interview rejected by the Child Labor Department of American Magazine. Fo many weeks I had been attempting to secure an interview with the great Sydney Snickerton, one of the most cele- brated of America’s multi-millionaires, only to be turned away at the door by a deferential butler with the message that the famous man was asleep and could not be disturbed. At last, however, I suc- ceeded in gaining an audience. I found myself standing in an immense room, the walls of which were covered with genuine Bud Fishers, Herrimans, Tads and other Great Masters. Noting my expression of bewildered admiration, Mr. Snickerton condescended to en- lighten me. “This is the library,” he said hospit- ably. “That rug there cost $100,000. That antique table my feet are on set me back $25,000—why, I spent $10,000 on the wormholes alone! Amazing, the way they rob you for wormholes nowadays! Yes, this is one of the best known libraries in America, as this is the room in which I serve cocktails to visiting Congressmen. You can tell it’s a library because there’s FOR TWO CENTS I'D KNOCK YOUR BLOCK OFF ANYHOW —INSECT! FIFTY-FIFTY ON WHAT HE HAS IN HIS POCKETS! THE KIDDIES a book here—at least, there used to be, although I haven't seen it for weeks. There really was one—I never did find out its name.” “Mr. Snickerton,” I asked, “to what do you attribute your great success?” “T never grant interviews,” he said, pulling out a bulky sheaf of proof and several large photographs of himself. “By the way, my first name is spelled with two Y’s. The man from the Morning Bazook and the one from the Evening Bazink only used one. No, I have nothing to say for publication.” “But—” I started to say. “Even as a tiny tot,” said Mr. Snicker- ton, not noticing my interruption and reading so rapidly from the proof sheets that I could hardly take notes, “little Sydney Snickerton possessed many char- acteristics that differentiated him from his playmates, chief of which was his overpowering ambition. Got that?” “Yes,” I said. “T was afraid you were going to ask me how to spell ‘differentiate,’ said Mr. Snickerton, much relieved. “There are too many F's in that word—I was never any good on F's. It has been my one weakness. Where was I? Oh, yes, ‘am- bition—overpowering ambition.’ “At the age of five—hope I’m not going too fast for you—Mr. Snickerton said to his Aunt Sarah: ‘Aunt Sarah, before I am twenty-one I am going to be worth one million dollars ($1,000,000)’— close parentheses.” “Pardon me,” I ventured to inquire, “did you tell your aunt to close paren- theses?” “Certainly not,” retorted Mr. Snicker- ton with some heat. “Though her—ah— limbs were a trifle bowed, I should never have ventured to comment on the fact. But to proceed: “His aunt laughed at him and said that little boys could never be worth one million-dollars ($1,000,000) although little girls might expect to rate that high if they got the right theatrical connection. “I shall or will succeed,’ said Mr. Snickerton,” read Mr. Snickerton. ‘Fix that ‘shall or will’ business up in your writeup—I never can get the fool thing THAT BANQUET FLASHLIGHT Ne NK As Mr. T. Terwilliger, at the table, knew he looked— 24 Ty 4 —and what the camera did to him. comicbooks.com