Judge — January 1939 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

. : Santa Claus jiggled the telephone hook vigorously. ‘The Patron Saint of the Department Stores was trying to get in touch with the White House in Washington. It was Christmas Eve l his bag was still unpacked. Old Nick had taken most of the Yuletide spirit out of the long, long distance operator. The constant hook-jiggling annoyed her no end, After all, she was doing the best she could. nta’s phone finally responded. ‘On your call to President Roovevelt in Washington,” the operator caroled, “the report is he is very, very busy. If you will give me your name, age, weight and future will be glad to call you Just _ay Santa made mental note to. make that chimney if it killed him, the phone clicked and went dead. He was alone with the North Pol Old Glaus kicked a couple of reindeer out of the parlor and started na somewhat irritated expectations I tossing toys in his bi manner. “The phone rang. said a Brisk, Clear Voice. ” Santa almost sere “Wait a second,” came the answer, “Don't stop me if you've heard this before. You are ta Claus, class of *33, and what can I do for you?" ‘The Old Boy was amared, but quickly de- cided it must be the Old Nick in him. “L would like to talk to President Roosevelt,” he said, “and how did you come to recognize my voice “Lhe Brisk, Clear Voice laughed. * she said. “Didn't you callus in nd again in 19 Santa knew then he was talking to. Miss ckmeister, the girl who remember a thousand voices. “1 would suggest that you talk to one of the President’s Secretaries,” Miss H. continued. “Indeed yes," Kris whispered. “Connect me with Secretary Early.” “Iam sorry, but Secretary Early isn't speak- ing to anyone.” THE JUDGE FOR JANUARY. By GEORGE E. DURNO “Not even at Christmas time?” puffed the Old Boy. “Not even on the Fourth of July or t of Atonement,” said the Brisk, Clear Voice. “Well, could I perhaps speak to Secretary Melntyr “Just please.” Moments passed. “Iam sorry, but See- sary McIntyre is busy the President,” the sudden mes- sage. “Would to speak to his Mr. Kannce, or his secretary Day moment, Santa Claus made another mental note to bring Secretary McIntyre a new set of golf clubs and an automatic scorer for Christmas and as- sured Miss Hackmeister he would be delighted “Kannee speaking. What can I do for yc “L would like very much to talk to President Roosevelt,” Santa replicd diffidently “Well, Santa Claus, you know how busy the President is this time of the year. Couldn't you tell me the nature of your business? Perhaps 1 could help you.” Old Nick sighed softly. “Indeed,” he assured, “I would like to talk to the President about extending the Monroe Doctrine to the North Pole and avoiding a subpoena from the Dies Committee.” “Oh!” said the Washington end of the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner. I think I hear Colonel McIntyre com: ing into the office at this moment.” And it was McIntyre. The President's husky Secretary lilted a mel- low baritone into the phone. “Hello, buddy, What are you trying to do, steal our act Santa hastened to assure that he was not talking about Christmas, but about extension of the Monroe Doctrine to the North Pole. “North Pole?” queried the Secretary incred- ulously, “I thought we carried that in the last election.’ Melntyre put a heavy hand over the mouth- picce and nudged Kannee. “Get hold of Missy LeHand im- mediately,” he or- dered, “and ask her how Santa’ Claus stood before Chi- cago and how he voted in 1932 and 1936, Have Miss ‘Tilly check on how he ran in the North Pole last time out.” Ina moment, Kannee was back with figures. Melntyre smiled, cased his big frame back into the chair. old boy,” he said, “1 think you Ik to the Boss himyelf." Mac tapped the phone hook told Hacky to connect: Kris: Kring with the Squire of Krum Elbow. “Hello!” said a voice, and the long, long distance wire became vibrant every inch of the way from Washing: ton to the North Pole. “Mr. President,” gasped the Old Gentleman as a bowlful of jelly quiv- cred midway ‘t cutlet_and lip, is Santa Claus. E would like very much...” Now that’s simply grand,” interrupted the vibrant voice, “but 1 suspect this isn’t Santa us at all. Your voice sounds very much like tof Harry Hopkins.” The WPA Administrator pulled off his beard and diygorged the pillow from under his belt. Bow? Merry Christmas. It’s the n't nel comicbooks.com