Judge — February 22, 1930 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

| Wa i! ne |) | | H | | | | | A Little Rebel in Petticoats By S.J. Perelman Ove the lonely Igor Stravinsky Tavern, on the Boston Post d, the world was wrapped in ess. The icy maw of a New England winter in’ 1777 had clutched Connecticut Re its freezing grip. From the stables the cursing of horses or the neigh of a hostler could be heard as honest Dirk Bensdorp, the stable-boy, pawed the ground and whinnied. But within a cheery fire lowed to light the traveler's melt the wolves from his beard. As little Mercy Snodgrass peered out through the curtains into the pitch blackness a tear gathered in her eye and froze there for the unfortunate wanderer who might be abroad to- night. JUDGE “Well, Mercy, to bed with you, my lass,” she heard her father's hearty “It has been a hard day, what jeneral George Washington fice: ing in and out of the house from the redcoats and leaving his hats and flags all over the joint. A pox on him and his cheap charades, shaking his epaulets around here like it was a cos- tume ball!” “Fie on you, young onc father, we're only reproved Mercy. “You run along to bed, I have to finish my examples,” and she opened her Krafft- Ebing at the end of the book to peep at the answers. “Well,” he cending the stairs, you know where you mur red, slowly as- if you need me find me. “It would embarrass me to loc grated Mercy from her book. antled the room and the em- PASSING THE BUCK WHAT HAS BECOME OF THOSE POWER COMPANY MORTGAGES ? A TIMELY REMINDER Let's play fast and loose with each other, you be loose? Lucy; I'll be fast and “Hundred years at hard labor; anything to say?” barked the glory of the bench at Morphine Moe. “Yeah,” fumed the fiend, “I'd like to say you're plenty liberal with another mug’s time!” History or no history, Cortes should have sold at the peak in Darien. 8 bers glowed in the fireplace as Tinker Bell and his fairy horde strode through the pages of Krafft-Ebing’s ever-fascinating romance. Merey had hardly ceased chuckling over a bril- liant bit of cross-fire between Sacher Masoch and the Marquis de § when the repeated clangor of the knocker brought her sharply to her senses. Mufled voices from without jf finally climaxcd in a sharp command. [fl “Open in the name of His Majesty King George the Third!" } Trembling, Mercy unlatched the [f door and revealed two officers in bril liant) scarlet uniforms, their knee breeches and great coats powdered with snow. The elde red-faced man of haughty. ni wrapped in the Union Jack, Merey’s ey nearly popped out of her head and she dropped a curtsey. | “Here, you dropped something.” replied the elder, returning her curt- sey. “Introduce us, Baron.” ] “Tam Baron ( commander of the Hessian mercenaries,” said his companion to \ And do you know who this i “No, but 1) can Mercy. “Come The "brusque Getz," smiled in, General Howe.” minions of Britain's Hanoverian monarch stamped the snow from their boots and looked closely about the room. “OH to bed with you, maid.” growled Howe, loosening the frogs of his tunic. “I have important plans to discuss with the F ered beneath his fierce e and slunk | upstairs to her room. She could hear the drone of voices below as the Eng- | lish generals laid traps to snare | Washington. Slowly in the tot's head a brilliant scheme took form, and she drew a deep breath, Exactly ten minutes later a short figure appeared upon the sta d and pe fixedly down upon the sorbed officers. A curt) command, “Gentlemen, at your service!” brought them blinking from their maps to their feet. Howe stared in crestfallen surprise at the figure. “General Washington!” he stut- | tered, gazing into the barrel of a business-like pistol. “You? Here?” “None other,” came the General's calm voice as he frowned over his | fierce black beard at his noted adver- " sary. “A false move and you are a — |) dead ‘un, As for you, Getz, I have you covered also.” Moving rapidly toward the astounded Britishers, he thrust a document at the end of a spear into their shaking hands. “But—but this is insanity!” (Continued on page 31) Merey cow- roared comicbooks.com