Baltimore Evening Sun (22 January 1912): 6.

The taxpayers of Baltimore to the Legislature of Maryland:

All we ask of you is common decency—and d—— little of that.

The daily thought from “Also sprach Zarathustra”:

Arise! Invent that justice which acquitteth everybody except the judge!

Some begin to slay that them boomers has all dried up and blowed away.

Dr. W. C. Schulze, dean of the American College of Mechano-Therapy, in Chicago, still pursues me with his soft blandishments. Far back in the summer he offered to teach me the whole science of mechano-therapy for $100 cash, thus making me the pathological and therapeutic peer of Dr. Osler, and opening for me the doors of the League for Medical “Freedom.” When I failed to rise to the bait, it was given a seductive wiggle. That is to say, the ante was lowered. Thus the good doctor’s offers, in brief:

July 17.—$100 cash, or $37 cash and $23 a month for three months, or $24 cash and $14.50 a mouth for six months.
September 9.—$50 cash, or $18.50 cash and $11.50 a month for three months, or $12 cash and $7.23 a month for six months.
October 9.—$47 cash, or $4 cash and $8 a month for eight months.
November 9.—$25 cash, or $5 cash and $5 a month for five months.

Now comes a renewal of the last offer—and an extremely amiable and ingratiating letter. Says the doctor:

It surprises me greatly to fail to find your name among our students, and I can hardly conceive how you could, in justice to yourself and your future welfare, fail to have taken advantage of the extraordinary offer made to you. * * * If you have not the very small sum required, it will pay you to borrow it.

Attached to the letter is an impressive broadside of testimontals, by which it appears that the American College of Mechano-Therapy is doing a thriving trade and pleasing its suckers. Says “Dr.” W. F. Caunt, a recent graduate:

I have the pleasure to inform you of having received by last mail a diploma which is pleasing to know I was able to give satisfaction to your examiners.

Says “Dr.” Eugene Wunderlich, “doctor chemistry and mechano-therapy”:

With my great pleasure I have received today my degree, and I am very thankful for your kind work which is written plainly as the A B Cs, and I shall keep through my future life the alma master of your honest college.

Says “Dr.” Joseph Voltaire, a student in faraway Manitoba:

After having completed the course of mechano-therapy and received my beautiful diploma, which pleased me in such degree that I am proud of, so it behooves me to express you my best thanks * * * Now I am aware, that I have made the acquaintance of a profession of truth and character, and that I can conscientiously appear on the stage for human healing.

By all of which it appears that the graduates of the American College of Mechano- Therapy at once become eligible, not only to membership in the League for Medical “Freedom,” but also to places on the Board of School Commissioners of Baltimore city and to membership in the Teachers’ “Literary” Club.

If I was one of them ex-Sheriffs I wouldn’t worry none about none of that money being in danger none.

Why not an auxiliary reception committee of gentlemen under indictment for stimulating the returns?

Where were the catchpolls last night? Where the sleuths of the Lord’s Day Alliance? Faring, between 8 and 10 o’clock, along East Baltimore street, I found fully 26 per cent. of the stores wide open, and not only wide open but boldly doing business. In witness whereof, I entered half a dozen of them and made the following purchases:

One half-pound can of Russian tea.
A plug of chewing tohacco.
Two slices of schwartenmagen.
A pound of cervelatswurst.
Three Martinirter herrings.
A copy of Puck.
A loaf of pumpernickel.
A corncob pipe.
A copy of “Silver Threads Among the Gold.”
A can of caviare.
Three lemons.
A package of chewing gum.
Two dill pickles.
A pound of spaghetti.
A can of grated Parmesan cheese.
A celluloid collar.
A violin A string.
A smoked goose hip.
A link of blutwurst.
Six five-cent cigars.
A bottle of peruna.
A package of playing cards.
A wreath of leberwurst.
Half a dozen bananas.
A pint of peanuts.
A pair of detachable cuffs.
A can of patte de foie gras.
A safety razor.
Two smoked mackerel.
A tube of tooth paste.
A pound of sweltzer cheese.
A bottle of olive oil.

Burdened with this freight. I paraded the street ostentatiously exposing myself purposely to the scrutiny of at least 10 policemen. Only one of them halted me, and that one merely wanted to be sure that I had bought the stuff. When I showed him my receipts, he apologized and bade me go in peace.

Alas, alas, can such things be? Is Baltimore headed straight for perdition? With organ recitals at the Peabody, and the art gallery open, and the street cars running, and delicatessen on tap, and every fifth kaif fitted with a humane side-door, what is to become of our chemically pure, our pianissimo, our comatose Sunday? Up, moralists, and at ’em! Save us from such agreeable debaucheries! Scotch the profane herring! Cage the Sabbath-breaking leberwurst!

All I got to say is, I bet you 10 cents you won’t see none of them stuffers missing at the convention.

A flitch of pfannhase to any spiritualist who can send a ghost to haunt me. Two flitches for two ghosts. Ten for a dozen.

Suggestion to the baffled foes of smoke: Give the super-Mahon an airship.

A pair of detachable cuffa to anyone, sane or insane, who will come forward with proofs that the City Council is worth 80 cents a year.

A hand-painted necktie to any Baltimorean, not obviously in liquor. who believes that the Hon. Jake Hook believes that anyone believes that he (Jake) believes that the merit system would force him to employ blackamoor clerks in the Tax Department.

The super-Mahon! The surper-Mahon! Already he has also ran!