Judge, 1905-08-26 · page 6 of 16
Judge — August 26, 1905 — page 6: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains multiple short humor pieces typical of Judge magazine's satirical style. The dominant feature is a lengthy dialect story about "Old Mose," a formerly enslaved Black man, confronted by "Marse Gawge" (his former master or local landowner) about stolen chickens and corn. The piece uses exaggerated racial stereotypes and dialect to portray Mose as evasive and dishonest. When confronted with evidence of theft, Mose deflects by blaming his dog—a comedic reversal where he ironically claims to have "circumstantial evidence" pointing to the animal. The humor derives from Mose's supposed cunning in evading responsibility through technically accurate (but misleading) statements. This reflects early 1900s white attitudes: depicting Black characters as inherently untrustworthy, linguistically deficient, and clever only in deception. The surrounding shorter pieces use similar comedic patterns involving class differences, marital discord, and consumer culture—standard Judge fare of the era.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE DIFFERENCE. S¢THERE'S no use talk- ing,” said Jones, ris- ing from the breakfast- table; ‘you don’t make biscuit as well as my moth- er did.” “That's all right,” re- torted Mrs. J. “+ You don’t make dough as well as my father did.” ‘THE INS AND OUTS:OF A SHARK. IG bay, Cold, wet ; Deep, too, You bet! Bad place, No doubt ; Danger near— Look out. Shark in, Hungry, wary; Man sailing, Nice, very. THE USUAL WAY. Dyer—Gotrox has a magnificent estate, but there are a lot of tumbled- down cottages in the vici ity that detract from Ryer—* That's his poor relations live. Man sees ‘Shark’s fin ; Man out, Shark in. Man falls Off boat— Can't swim, Don't float. POSITIVE. May—* Are you sure her complexion is genuine?” Bess —" Positive. Isaw the written guarantee, that comes with every box.” Shark sees, Lifts snout. Man in, Shark out. WALTER comsTOCK. QUITE PROPER. Her bosom friend— How brave you are, dear! The way you laughed and chasted with your husband at the tea this afternoon, no- body would suspect there was the slightest trouble between you.” She—+ Certainly not. Neither of us consider it good form to wear our divorce-suits in public.” AND HUBBY WAS MIQUE. GMD a man in spirit of pique To his wife, ‘In that hat you're a frique.” “ Sir, you'll see how it feels To get your own meals!” Cried’his mate. «Tasta for a wique!” : RECOGNIZED IT. Mr. Turkey Buzzaro—“'I suppose the same business has brought us both here."* Mr. Arrican Vutture—' Yes; | knew it was that tainted money for the mission as soon as it landed."* HOW HE RAISED IT. ¢4GMITH has bought an automobile, I hear. Wonder how he raised the dough?” “Why, didn’t you know? He's just sold his yeast-factory.” OLD MOSE WAS CHOCK FULL OF EVIDENCE, dD MOSE came shuffling down the dusty road in his ulQat-aimless manner. He was a little, old, dried-up relic of the ante-bellum days, and_was so slew-footed, knock-kneed and rheumatic that his gait resembled the contortions ot a circus-performer. One knee seemed to be continually saying to the other, ++ You first,” and the other replying, ‘* After you, my dear Alphonse.” “*Mawnin’, Marse Gawge." . Good-morning, Mose. How are you to-day ?* “Po'rly, Marse Gawge—po'rly. De reumatiz am powerful bad, Marse Gawge. Seems ter me dat a po’r nigger do hab er hahd time in dis worl’, I ain't bin able ter do no work in t’ree weeks (Mose had not been known to work since the days of slavery) an’ de rations am gone. Marse Gawge, can't-yer gid de ole nigger a dollah ter keep him f'um starvin’ 2"? + Mose, who stole my Plymouth-rock hens last Wednesday night ?” 7 “Fore de Lawd, Marse Gawge, I ain't seen no dominecker hens !"* 3 “Who mentioned domineck hens 2” + Er-er—Lawd, Marse Gawge! eb'rybody knows dat dem plym—plym—er—dem kind ob hens am speckled.” ‘Mose, who stole my »roasting - ears Thursday night?” ; «at's er mighty s‘archin’ question yo's axin’ me, Marse Gawge. I ain't had er méss ob roastin'-years sence ‘way yonder las’ yea “Well, now, tell me how those green corn-shucks happened to be under the edge of your house?” «How dem shucks cum dar?” said Mose, scratching his head and looking as though very much puzzled. +I tell yer, Marse Gawge ; no dominecker hens!"* “Fore de Lawd, Marse Gawge, I ain't seen dem shucks bin er-puzzlin’ me‘eber sence I seen ‘em dar. I seed de dawg er-lyin’ on ‘em, an’ I spec’s sarcumstanshul ebidence p'ints ter de dawg. . He sho” mus’ er tuck dem roastin’-years.”” “Now, look here, you old reprobate! Didn't you go into my melon-patch Friday night and steal ten of my finest watermelons ?” «Deed, I doan’ know who stole ‘em. Spec’ hit wuz some ob dem crap-shootin’ dood niggers f'um town wot got ‘em. Watahmil- lions sho’ taste good ter dem kind ob niggers.” + You old rascal! you know you are lying. Now, tell me what other nigger in this entire county could make such slew-footed tracks as those ‘I saw in the melon-field Saturday morning.” «Dem feets mus’ er bin turned dat erway er-teel- in’ fo" de millions in de dahk, jes’ like er man turn his haid lookin’ ‘hind him.” ‘Mose, you have been orchard,” *Lawd, Marse Gawge! yo’ sho’ ought ter be ‘shamed ob yo'self er-castin’ ‘flections on de integity ob er ole nigger wot useter hol’ yo’ on his knee an’ wot played wid yo" when yo" wuz er kid.” The planter had been looking searchingly at Mose, and suddenly exclaimed, + What causés your shirt to bulge out in front?” + Dis am er new shirt, Marse Gawge, an’ hit's kinder puffed up wid pride.” He forcibly seized old Mose by the shirt- front and gave a quick upward jerk. About a peck of luscious peaches tumbled to the ground. Old Mose looked at the peaches doubtfully, then at the old master, and then ambled away mumbling, ‘+ Dese heah white folks doan’ wanter gib er po'r hones’nigger no show 'tall. How de debil do dey spec’ er nigger ter make er hones’ libin’ ?" WHLuase STUART HELL. into. my peach~ Comicbooks.com