Judge, 1890-12-27 · page 6 of 16
Judge — December 27, 1890 — page 6: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page satirizes working-class Christmas disappointment through a boy's first-person narrative. "Willum Henry," trying to be good to earn a holiday reward, receives money from his father ("pa") for skates. Instead, he gambles it away at a sample room (a bar where drinks were given free with purchases), winning a papier-mâché chicken in a raffle. His father—depicted as a stern mind-reader—sees through the deception and punishes him by denying Christmas dinner, kicking the family dog instead. The humor targets both the boy's failed scheme and parental discipline's harsh reality. Secondary jokes mock contemporary figures like "Congressman Bullock of Florida" (unclear which one) and social pretensions about mistletoe etiquette. "Soph's Return" humorously describes preparing a tough turkey—likely a running domestic character. The overall tone reflects Gilded Age class attitudes and satirizes urban working-class life's grim realities masked by holiday sentiment.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
220 JUDGE THE DIAMOND EDITION’S CHRISTMAS DINNER. DIDN'T eat it, that’s all; but the dog, what's gin‘rally satisfied with the crumbs what fall from the table, got my dinner, an’ I kicked the dog, an’ that’s as near as / got to a Crissmuss dinner. I'd be'n bein’ a good little boy fur sum time; this wuz out of my reg'lar line, an’ I pulled the wool over all their eyes ‘cept pa's. It's wonderful the eyes my pa has got fur seein’ “head an’ solvin’ the problem in a nice little boy's mind like such as I carry under my 6 hat. Pa's a mind-reader, he is. He can jist sit down an’ burn his way clean through a feller’s gizzard, an’ he duz it so easy-sort that it don’t seem to hurt nuthin'— nuthin’ but the boy who's fun an’ Crissmuss dinner gits warped all out of shape, an’ which is 8 by a dog, an’ which dog is kicked by jist sich a nice boy as I am. “Willyum Henery,” sed pa, as he gave me a lot ‘er money to buy a pair of skates, leavin’ the rest that wuz over to spend fur oysters fur my lady-luv, “go, my gentile chile, an’ purchase the best you can git fur the modest stipend, but don’t tarry with the seal-brown sole-leather dice-box when the fapier-maché chicken is up fur a raffle.” : T accepted my pa's gorgeous stipend, an’ went an’ bought the skates, an’ struck " i, a sample-room, an’ I indulged in gambolin’. I won the chicken, an’ I sot up the uw 4 /// ; _. _,_ Soderwater, an’ the chicken wuz won oS eis P A LITTLE FUN AT HOEPEL'S. | agin by me. It muster be'n the so- Mas. Howcae —"'Ferdic, isn't your hair getting a little long?” der-water what got in my head, or Mr. Howcame (who Aas been shorted on gas-stocks)—'* Yes, p'raps it wuz the hot coffee, or the madam. For heaven's sake let it grow! I need it in my business.” smell of the cellerloid dice or sum- thin’ like that sort. When I quit I wuz out awfully, an’ full awfully ‘way up to my front bang. I had seven dollars an’ ten cents when I quit gambolin’, I went out an’ give a karol-singer the seven dollars an’ took his “Gord bless yer,” an’ my ten cents to a street-car an’ hied me hum. I got hum late, wrung the nob off the door-bell, wuz pulled into the hall, kicked a yéller dog what ‘noculated the door-mat with fleas —an’ wuz soaked in brine an’ putter bed. When I asked fur my Crissmuss dinner pa sed the yeller dog had gottid ; also, he sed that I wuz sowin’ my oats sum early, an’ that my Aunt Sairy had changed her will, an’ that my name wuz “Cheap Clay"; but NOTHING LIKE IT. next Crissmuss I intend to be a nice little boy. M. & KELLER. FEMININE SPITE. He—"1 think you are rather prudish, My other girl never objected to getting under the mistletoe. She—" But just remember how homely she was.” QUITE. Maddox —" Congressman Bullock of Florida has thirteen children.” Gazzam—"\sn't that almost a quorum?” THE BAD BOY. T IS shocking, my boy, Para Hoepet—' Vere ish I To find that St. Nick pet? I dthink me he vos losd Stouter—" Ah, there’s nothing like one of these easy, Has put a big stick canvas-seat chairs to throw one’s self in when one is tired.” In your stocking, my boy. “ SOPH’S RETURN. (Christman, 1890) TEN O'CLOCK. Brown on top and as tough as a pine-knot. T'll just clap a pan over ‘his breast-bone. Fine turkey that. Killed and picked him yesterday, but couldn't get those confounded little pin- feathers off to save myself; held him over the fire as I've seen Soph do; but he fell in and got as black as a coon. Mopped him off with the dish-rag, but he was so streaked I just ripped the skin clean off the breast, and got him well in the oven before I thought of his insides. Put him back on the table and spooned out his interior. Shoveled him full of crackers, greased him well with the strong butter that Soph said was good enough for cooking, and rubbed him well with salt and pepper—half a cup each. Couldn't thread the darning-needle; fastened him up with hair- pins and set him afloat in the dripping-pan. Sophy, my wife, couldn't come home before Christmas. Been to take care of Aunt Silence, who's had whooping-cough at sixty. Expect she'll arrive to-day at noon. Fearing she'd be hungry Bany Hoeret— Here he vos!" and too fagged out to feel like work, thought I'd svrnrise her with a nice Christmas tur —— comicbooks.com