Judge, 1911-10-21 · page 9 of 24
Judge — October 21, 1911 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page satirizes the disconnect between what people *claim* to attend events for versus their actual interests. Mr. Gimp repeatedly insists he brought his family to the horse show to educate them about horses—the "noblest dumb companion"—while constantly distracted by *clothes*. He hypocritically adjusts his own tie and coat buttons while lecturing his wife and son about focusing on the animals, not fashion. The satire targets male hypocrisy: Gimp accuses his wife of being superficial for observing clothing (the traditional female stereotype), yet he's equally preoccupied. The humor lies in his obliviousness—he lectures about cobs and polo ponies while demonstrating zero genuine interest in them. The secondary cartoons mock other social behaviors: marital conflict over etiquette, and children's observations about licensing (unclear reference, likely satirizing bureaucracy). The target is bourgeois pretension and gendered double standards at public events.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
see whether his tie was climb- ing the back of his collar, It was. “‘Now, my dear,’’ he said, “please don’t begin that!’’ ‘Begin what, sweetheart?”’ asked Mrs. Gimp innocently. “You know very well what I mean,” said Mr.Gimp. ‘‘I meanclothes, Don’t you know what people come to the horse show for? Do you suppose I brought you here to look at clothes? This is a horse-show, not a clothes show.”” “Well, the clothes are here,”’ said Mrs. Gimp, ‘‘and there are no horses in the ring yet. I might as well look at the clothes.”” “Oh, yes!” said Mr. Gimp. “Look at the clothes! Talk about the clothes! Don’t you know that you are making a joke of yourself? Don’t you know that is why the funny papers poke fun at the horse show? Look at the clothes, if you insist, but don’t tell every one you don’t know a horse from a cow.”” “T said nothing about horses,’’ said Mrs. Gimp, offended; ‘‘or cows, either.’’ “‘Are they going to have cows, pa?”’ asked Sammy. a ere “THAT'S PUNNY. THAT FISH HAS BERN OUT OP THE WATER TWO HOURS, AND IT'S KICKING YET.” “No, they’re not!’ snapped Mr. Gimp. “And if your mother cared anything about horses, if she knew horses as I do, and loved horses— You watch the horses, Samuel, and let your mother look HENRY PECK-ED. Mrs. Peck—“ Look here, Mr. Henry Peck, you are getting more careless and impolite every day ! Why don’t you tip your hat when you meet me on the street ?"” at the clothes. I brought you here to learn something about man’s noblest dumb companion. Now!" The doors at the far end of the Garden swung open and in came the horses, Mr. Gimp, first looking to see whether the men around him wore their frock coats buttoned or unbuttoned, and hast- ily buttoning his, looked at his program. “‘Cobs,”’ he said, reading the program. “Judging cobs. Now, observe, Sammy, that those are cobs, as they are called. And a remarkably fine lot of cobs, too.’’ “But, pa’? — Sammy began, after looking at the horses and then at the program his father had bought him. “Don’t talk; look,’’ said Mr. Gimp. ‘I want you to know, after you leave here, just what a cob is. See how tall and rangy they are. Clothes! Why, half the people here don’t care a cent for the horses! They don’t so much as know a cob when they see one’’—— “But, pa’’—said Sammy. “Clothes is what they come for, like your mother—to see clothes and to have their clothes seen. Ah! The white cob gets the blue ribbon! Just as I thought. A very fine cob, that! What's next? Polo ponies.’’ “But, pa’’—said Sammy, as half a dozen lank, lean horses ran into the ring, each bearing a rider. “The most knowing ponies in the world,’’ said Mr. Gimp. ‘‘Remember that, Sammy. Study the polo ponies. Your mother is too busy looking at clothes, but I want you to know as much about horses as your father does. Fine polo ponies those are, too, Just such animals as I would choose myself. Tall Chorus of nestlings —" MAMMA, MAMMA, WHEN DO WE GET OUR OFFICIAL LICENSE TO PLY?” comicbooks.com