Judge — November 1932 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

Extra! Judge Jr. in Jail! NEVER thought in all my born d that I would tangle with the L in front of Macy’s window at high noon but that’s exactly how it was to the minute. Since that awesome moment, I have been pushed around by the police force of New York. I have been bawled out in every shade of shanty brogue. I have been im- pressed by the highmindedness of New York magistrates. I have been adorned with bracelets that don't come from Tiffany's. I have been given several rides in patrol wagons. I have been jugged in the Tombs. And as I go to press I am free on bail. I have taken everything the police have to offer but the hose. I don’t know what will happen at my trial, but I do hope my friends will start baking me hacksaw pies and file puddings. I am, in other words, a hardened criminal. I talked back to a policeman! You see, I was rounding Macy’s corner at high noon when an officer of the law raised his voice at me for a traffic infraction. that didn’t take place. He spoke with such con- sideration, kindness and old fash- ioned tact, I thought for an instant I was in the pres- ence of a Salama bull with a re horn. His provoca- tion being so gratu- itous, so unneces- nd so typically policeman, as I swung my around him I “Do you alway have to say some- thing?” He saw mediately. And be- before 1 could cry ) Mr. Police Com- missioner!” he had lowered his horns, rushed at me, placed a steaming nostril about two inches from the clean ears of the blonde who sat with me and let rush with a lot of what is known as wounded bull, or, if you wish, traffic roar. l accordingly put in a few repartee passes in reply to his raging thrusts, parried his wicked horns thisaw an’ thataway and much to m ment, soon found myself red im- & HAT NEM) pinochle station house. a policeman! At the precinct house I fell into the hands of an even more amiable gentleman, a Lieutenant of Police— a Minotaur named Walsh. Under a Be Courteous Men sign, in honeyed accents and Chesterfieldian prose he let go at me with a blast that almost blew the windows out. He held forth passionately on my infraction of the laws. He pointed out my _ horrid ys and the saintliness of the policeman whom I had offended. | gathered that for speaking up like a little man I had committed arson, simony, treason and moider. All this time the blonde, who was standing by me like a true blonde and hadn't fallen for the big bari- tone and the blue uniform, turned several shades lighter. Myself, my head began to spin lik - round. rytime I tried to inter- pose and ask what it v all about I was blown down by another and more charming blast by the gay and dancing fellow pounding the police blotter. playing h'd’q’ters, or the I had talked back to (Page 23, please) HERE, JUNIOR, IS A NAPPLE PIE!— PsT! ~There’Ss A (1. SAW, A FILE, A CROW-BAR ANO “THIRTY-SEVEN SKELETON KEYS IA (T/ comicbooks.com