Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1893-1920, 1920-01-10
Frederic Haskin's Letter
DRYTALK

New York, Jan. s.-As the sched-
uled date for the. positively last
execution OF J. B. draws near,
Broadway becomes more and more
oppressed by the magnitude OF its
grief. Evidences Of deep mourning
are apparent everywhere-.in. the
theaters, where the audiences can
NO longer be made to laugh at
things which are not funny; in the
so-called Joy palaces, where most
Of the public looks ~ IL It had just
auarreled with It's wife: and IN the
conversation Of the town, which
has become ono long, lugubrious
lament. New York Is now like .
photograph. with one one record.
automatically repeated. and entitled
Give Me Liberty or Give Me
Death"
Never has there been so> much
talk about liberty in New York
since the days when the Liberty
boys themselves went about STIR
ring up the American revolution.
Every New Yorker will tell you the
same thing: It isn't the exit Of
strong beverage he minds at all.
He can, and has on various occa-
sions been able. to get along without
lit. It's the restriction Of his per-
sonal liberty which makes him
mad.
"Why, soon. the governmental be
tellin' me how many cups OF tea l
can drink day, how many hair
pins / can wear in my hair, and
what length to wear my skirts" de-
clared a certain blond rebel the
other day, pointing a prophetic fin
ger at her male escort, sitting
gloomily at the other side Of a
Broadway table.
II tell you what it is goin' to do, !"
replied the male escort morosely.
Its getin' ready to hit tobacco"
"Gawd! Where'd you hear that
demanded the blond one, instinct
lively reaching for her cigaret case.
And in the subway headed for the
Bronx the same evening:
Hello, Jones, what's that you've
got in your hip pocket?" Mr.. Jones'
neighbor inquired loosely, giving
Mr.. Jones . playful dig in the ribs
with his elbow, as he Topped into
the vacant straw covered seat be-
side him.
furniture polish" declared Mr..
Jones duly.
"Oh, come, you can't put that
stuff over on me-think I'll have to
drop in for awhile tonight" pur-
sued the neighbor with undaunted
cordially.
Its true" insisted Mr.. Jones
bitterly. Where do you suppose l
could get anything in this town
It's tyranny, that's what 1t is. Mil
itarism. It's those darned reform
pirates who are running the gov
eminent. ! tell you. l have always
been a good American; the little
old U. S. has looked pretty good
to me. But this thing is enough to
turn you Observation-Disclosures
Well, it can't last. Just wait till
We elect a presidential candidate on
the anti-prohibition ticket"
With this last burst of optimism,
Mr.. Jones departed hastily for the
door Of the train, leaving his neigh
Dor still staring suspiciously at the
bulge in Mr.. Jones' hip pocket.
For it is commonly known, of
course, that those who wall the
loudest about their restricted lib
erty are usually the ones who have
the largest supplies on hand in the
secret recesses Of their cellars
and closets. About o'clock on the
evening of New Years eve, for
example, q florid gentleman, in a
brown overcoat and derby hat.
stood on a corner near Times
square, holding neat package I'M
der one arm, and using the other
arm for dramatic emphasis to his
remarks.
Its an outrage" he was telling
the world, Just as the reporter
passed. "Is this country run for
the majority, or for a small minority
Of weaklings, who can't stand half
a glass? Understand, it's not the
Juice care about at all. I like my
little drink occasionally, but am
not drinking man it's my personal
liberty which"
Here a loud crash interrupted the
gentleman's remarks, and there ON
the slush covered asphalt at his
feet lay his neat package. from
which flowed q rich brown fluid
Immediately recognized by the sur
rounding sniffers as prime old
whisky.
1t was interesting to note that on
New Years eve, when New York
was playing its liberty record more
loudly and persistently than ever,
the wine was also flowing more lib
orally than 1t has for several
months. In fact, the concensus OF