Contents of this magazine are copyrighted. Republication of any
part permitted when properly credited to Capt. Billy’s Whiz
Bang.
“We have room for but one soul loyalty and that is loyalty to
the American people.”—Theodore Roosevelt.
Copyright 1921
By W. H. Fawcett
Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang employs no solicitors. Subscriptions
may be received only at authorized news stands or by direct
mail to Robbinsdale. We join in no clubbing offers, nor do we
give premiums. Two-fifty a year in advance.
Edited by a Spanish and World War Veteran and dedicated to the
fighting forces of the United States
_Drippings From the Fawcett_
The modern city can be likened to that grim monster of old dreams to whom
a tribute of maidens was offered. The main difference between them lies
in the fact that his appetite for girl-flesh had its limitations, but the
appetite of the city had none. From this vast charnel house of hopes,
beliefs and ideals files upward a steady stream of damned souls that once
belonged to women-children, pure in thought and deed. The crushing of one
or a thousand of these “wee modest crimson-tipped flowers” beneath the
ploughshares of city life and temptation excites only passing remark.
The girl of the city has much more actual animation than her sister
of the country. This is due to the food that is eaten and the social
conditions of excitement that surround her. The country girl lives upon
plain food and has normal hours of rest and relaxation. She does not
encounter the sights or sounds that would tend to divert her attention
from high thoughts to matters forbidden.
Such sights and sounds are never absent from the city girl. She cannot
go into the business part of the city and walk two blocks without
being reminded of her sex. Men eye her with glances of suggestion and
invitation.
* * * * *
You don’t have to go to West Point for strategy. A negro preacher in his
pulpit one Sunday said he had a few remarks to make before the collection
basket made its peregrination.
“Now, brethren and sisters,” he began, “there is just one brethren here
that is untrue to his church, untrue to his Lord—and worst of all, untrue
to his wife. Unless he puts a five dollar bill into the contribution box
I will be compelled to call his name out.”
When the basket had returned and a recount had been made, the books
showed forty-two five dollar bills and a two dollar bill with a note
pinned to it saying, “I will hand you the other three in the morning.
Please don’t give me away.”
* * * * *
“Only a Mother Could Love a Prohibitionist’s Face.” That is the
inscription which appeared on one of the banners in the Anti-Dry parade
which I had the pleasure of witnessing in New York City while en-route
back from the big fight which ye editor attended.
* * * * *
Around Robbinsdale they get up early. Two farmers, jealous of their
rising records, became boastful and one allowed as how he got up before
three o’clock. The other rose at two the next morning and called at his
neighbor’s house, hoping to find him in bed. The farmer’s wife came to
the door.
“Where is your husband?” inquired the sleuth.
“Why, he was around here early this morning, but I don’t know where he is
now.”
* * * * *
Gus, our hired man, insists that Deacon Kingdon is a good shot.
“He is so good with his gun that he hit the bull’s-eye the first time,”
Gus exclaimed.
“Very good,” exclaimed Maggie, our cook.
“Yes, but he had to pay for the bull.”
* * * * *