﻿CITY OF DULUTH GOES VERMILLON HONORING T-BONE 

Communists Stage Usual Demonstration With Banners, Ballyhoo Pinches an’ Everything Just as T-Bone Slim Arrives in Town. 

Reported By T-Bone Slim. 

DULUTH, Minn., Sept. 10.—This town put on a show, last Saturday evening in honor of the arrival in town of Mr. T-bone Slim, the great man of letters and literature. Communists got out all their best placards and signs and paraded the great white way, Superior Street and the lesser thoroughfare Michigan Street, better known as “The Bowery.” 
Back again to the corner of Superior and 6th Ave., where they proceeded to unload torrents of wisdom to the multiude temporarily stationed at the “end of their ravels.” The “party” consisted of several persons including, a one-armed warrior and a schoolgirl on the verge of hysterics. It did my old heart good to see the revolution starting right under my eyes at the auspicious moment of my arrival in town —and I hurriedly made up my mind there’s nothing to it, it’s a cinch. 
A little earlier an officer of the law casually visited the Nicollet and International pool rooms—no doubt to assure himself no cossacks were hiding therein. Upon observing that mysterious procedure the great T-bone thought discretion the better part of valor and ordered instantaneous retreat for himself—to view the breakers along the east shore, of course, of course — not desiring to dissipate any of his well-known bravery. 
Upon his return from that gallant and strategical retreat Slim came upon the comrades once more on the corner denouncing Andy Mellon and bootleggers in general, after first having paid their respect to police brutality—all of a sudden like a bolt from a clear sky, or a pre-arranged plan, something mapped in the officers’ heads and with much puffing and wellfed vigor the cops dumb the speaker’s stand, a truck, and with eager hands grasped the comrades, one at a time, and lowered them to the pavements. 
From my position in “the outskirts,” where the running chances were “clear sailing,” I could not decifer whether or no an officer held a pillow or a cushion in under the falling comrades but even if the cops did forget for a moment the niceties of common etiquette, the fall, insofar as it wasn’t “a header,” could hardly offend even the most obstreperous rebel. 
The cops, mindful of the chivalries, drew a rigid sex line and did not even so much as wink at the feminine wing of the movement and confined the rest of their blushing activities trying to hold the spear end of the signs in the air, so as not to arouse the spirit of revolution in the populace—populace, by the way, by this time were absent-mindedely wondering about such great problems as hamburger steak and beef stew—they simply can’t keep their mind on the revolution. 
The only evidence of official loss of temper was the occasion of an officer, who no doubt never had played “ketch the reindeer by the tail,” trying to walk thru the crowd with the “Vote The Communist Ticket” between his legs— I’m sorry to say, I fear, the officer did become as one ill-humored and did handle that innocent signboard with extreme severity — yes, cruelty. 
Failure of the cops to use brutality is a brutality never to be forgiven by the comrades who were all set to capitalize it— what could be more brutal than a brutality that scorns brutality 
Had I been in on that revolution I would have punched myself in the nose to start the claret and hollered murder—upon second thot : no, I would have smeared my face with red paint—precious color! 
T-b S. 
P. S. 
Duluth is blessed with a cop that remembers everything. 
Now, I am a man that knows everything. 
What a pair we would make! 
(I know it; he remembers it.) 
He is seven inches between the eyes.