Judge — May 5, 1928 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

How a Sorcerer, named Do- Dee-Oh-Do, did Cast a Spell Upon ye Younger Generation “4 TTENTION, Bros.,” spake Arthur to his knyghts as- sembled in ye meetyng hall, "I have called thee hither to elect into our ranks one mem- ber more. For as ye ken, Sir Dragnet he hath failed to pay his dues, and we cannot have deadwoode in this clube. Now, whom would ye suggest to fill his chair?” But e’en before a knyght could speak a word, the massive oaken door burst open with a clank! And in did poke his nose an univited youth! “Hey! Hey!” quoth he. “If you insist, Vl take that empty chair.” And saying so the nervy gent did sit him down therein. A brazen, but a comely churl was he, with Slickum on his hairs. JUDGE \yis 0 By Dr. Theophrastus Seuss And in his hand he bore @ wooden instrument of mu- sic, the like of which the knyghts had never seen before. For it was neither harp, nor cruth, nor lute. “How now, thou scurvey whippet!” cried the kyng, most sorely gryped. “Thy entry is an insult to the sacred Table Round!” "It may be Round,” did drawl ye aggravating youth, “but ye mahogany is only very cheap veneer. And I do know my furniture, for- sooth.” And saying so, he scratched a match on Ar- thur’s shirt to light his cigarette, which did strike Arthur’s funny spotte. This collegiate fellow was none other than Do- Dee-Oh-Do, the bade will ambassador from ye occult land of Jazze. And he hath bewitched our younger generation. To ye tune of his enchanted music box (xclept ye ukelele) the youths and maidens do now suffer what is called “ye Translated from Merlin'’s Memoirs The Kyng was blowing Mammy songs. shaking of ye hoof,” and when ye younger knyghts go through its movements, one can hear their armor clang and bang for thirty furlong. And female modesty is also fled, alack! No more do damosels stay home of evenings knitting steel-wool stockings for their papas. In- stead, they go into ye dark en- chanted groves where they do throw ye Petting Tournaments. Poor Kyng Arthur, too, has been bewitched. For he blows | Mammy songs out of a horn of brass. Oh, lak-a-day! The sor- cerer hath made us all go nuttie. | Fair Camelot is on ye road to Helle. comicbooks.com