Judge — February 1937 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

“Fine lawyer you are!” plotters awaiting me, They had doffed their disguises and I recognized various important Nihilists, classified advertis- ers in “The Nation,” graduates of Brook- wood Labor College, readers of “The New Republic” and other subversive forces. One individual in particular at. tracted my attention with the burlap bag slung over his shoulder. “What's that, cul?” I barked, indicat- ing his bag. With a shamefaced leer the burly rascal opened the sack. He had rifled a complete set of the Mardrus translation of the “Arabian Nights’ from the erotica division. Despite his protests that he was taking it home to his children, I flung him aside and re- stored the volumes to the shelves. “We'll have no looting, men!” I ground out, “Now listen to me closely. Can you all hear me?” Every eye was riveted on me, and I knew there was no time to be lost. “Do you know who I am?" “Sure,” a coarse voice rang out, “Op. erative Z from Geneva!” “Not for bob-nuts,” I retorted, “I'm S. Stanwood Fralick, President of the Capi- talists’ Protective Association! And—that — parade “sakes place on time In lash I had switched off the lights and opened the petcocks. The roar of water flooding the vaults mingled with their snarls of rage as they plunged toward me. But I was already through the secret passage and speeding down the Avenue. They were caught like rats in a trap. I had only seconds to spare. Up the Avenue, preceded by brass bands of non. union musicians, rode a group of Ameri- ca’s most potent industrialists, silk hats iW gleaming above their jowls. Shouldering my way through the crowd, I sprang on the running-board of their barouche. Several of them drew back in terror and attempted to hide their money-bags, for I was still attired in my sinister costume. “It's all right, boys,” I assured them, “Just in case of trouble, you know.” The sight of my glass revolvers quicted their misgivings, and one or two of them even tried to slip me a manufacturer’s-size Corona but I waved the gifts aside. As we drew abreast the Library, I was not surprised to see several of the foiled plotters grit their teeth and melt into the crowd. It was ‘just as well, for they stood small chance against a cheering populace which would have torn them to pieces. A few moments later I was being borne on the shoulders of joyful tycoons into the Roce Club and toasted in bumpers of fine old Madeira. A special gold watch and fob had been rushed over from Car- tier's and was presented with a graceful speech by the president of the Key Men of America, and soon I was the center of a group of bull-necked but kindly-faced brokers offering me junior partnerships after I would graduate in June. And when, at ten o'clock that evening, I had stolen up to kiss Mamma good-night in my teddy-bears and stood knuckling my eyes sleepily by my crib, it was small wonder that I felt I had done something in my own humble way to save America from the fox gnawing at her vitals. That House By The Road Let me live in a house by the side of the road. Though it's not a mansion grand, ‘Twill afford myself and wife and kids All the glorious times we've planned. We'll play and we'll rest to our hearts’ content; And should neighbors bicker late, We'll hitch our house to the old coupé And move to another state! —CHARLES WaARANOW. “Albert! What on earth have you been playing?” Judge comicbooks.com