Judge — July 30, 1927 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

Tur Geine (sorting out the char-a-bane loads) —Which party do you belong to, sir? Tirrie Peck (modestly indicating Mrs. A Sermon to a Kidding Public (Continued from page 6) this lady like the appearance of Satan at a Sunday school picnic. I'm startled by muffled echoes of scattered “Amens” as a faltering pencil traces the holy lineaments of a Baptist minister. The great one rises to the pul- pit. Deft s pout reform- ing the younger generation—stabs at the dance and the hip flask. Now comes the body of his chantings. He raises a tightened fist in denunciations. They are aimed at the derelicts of the press. Wonder if there is any method in this madness. The press is likely to answer to attacks. hat usu- ally means free newspaper space. ‘The reporter to the left smiles. In this speech more time has been devoted to the conduct of jour- nalists than to preaching of the gospel. He pictures certain re- porters at this very moment s close to heaven they smell the sulphur. Amid publicity di cussion I hear an approving “Amen” after a particularly stinging rhetorical phrase. ‘This man is fiery. What a pity the brilliance of this oratory docs not flow into the broad scope of poli- ties. I draw a Wilsonian jaw. This mob psychology would add potency to any party. Dr. Straton an eloquent delivery. What's Applause! A presidential convention— well, that gives me rope. My pencil playfully notes the scho- lastie brow and the snowy locks of a clergyman, gestion of a Peck)—This one! —Hvenortsr Another — hymn. Reverend Straton requests that the news- paper men sing. The reporter to the left and I hold a hymn book together. Imagine taking a mind from the path of satire to sing “The Way of the Cross.” I hear the organ—but I sing like a fish. John Roach pats himself on the shoulder for having taken the pleasure of theater and the movies from a girl. Out of the corner of my eye I see a member of the congregation, She is of the younger generation, for she has bobbed hair. She takes her foun- tain pen and draws a cartoon of her neighbor on the announcement leaflet of the church. Well—the younger generation is human though it sit in a pew at Calvary. Straton invites five people to put five one hundred bills in the collection plate. Three thousand dollars are needed. Again he takes the covering of a newspaper story and twists it into blasphemy against the Holy Ghost. He spanks the press for maligning reputation. I’m safe. I simply work for a laugh from the features which are the gift of his own Baptist God. The service is over. I walk slowly through the aisles. ‘The choir singer in blue lingers. She probably has been told) she is beautiful. She belongs to the generation, too, She “Oh, let me sce the pic- Mister, will draw She is charming—so, al ys gallant. I draw. T have fun with my crayon. I'm human. It's human to kid. The girl in blue is human too. Not that we honor religion less younger you but that we enjoy a laugh more. This frail mortal can hardly re sist the temptations of the flesh when it comes in humorous pro- portions. I'm not a Demon, I propose to be Mirth. * * # * Now, brethren of Mirth—if you will rise to hum the last stanza — Reverend Straton will forgive me as he has forgiven straying deacons, I hath only been kidding. For if not for th lampoonings which earn my daily pie, I should have been unable to dig into pocket for the humble dime which I hath laid on the collection plate. And thou know- eth said shiny dime hath not come from John D’s gifts to the children, Amen. e “x ? Nervous Crry-Dwetter—Excuse me—I wonder if I'll be able to get across to the bandstand before the traffic starts? —Hvwmorist comicbooks.com