Judge, 1913-06-14 · page 5 of 24
Judge — June 14, 1913 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This story satirizes a henpecked husband named Peter Bingley. The top illustration shows him riding wildly on a horse while his wife attempts to control him—visualizing the caption "Owned, but not controlled." The narrative mocks Bingley's domesticated state: his wife criticizes his appearance, controls his breakfast, and decides his schedule. When she leaves him for ten days, he escapes to Boston on important business. A messenger boy interrupts with a telegram recalling him home for "a few days," which Bingley interprets as his wife's attempt to recapture control. The humor targets the popular turn-of-century anxiety about wives dominating husbands—a common theme in *Judge*'s satirical commentary on American marriage and masculinity.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
OWNED, BUT NOT CONTROLLED Miserable wretch—An’ t' think | own th’ brute, b—body an’ soul! A Tragedy Averted By ARTHUR HANCOCK ETER BINGLEY—‘‘Bing,”’ for short—came downstairs feeling grouchy and looking very much the same. He is a traveling salesman, and the night before he had been out very late with a number of his drummer friends, with the result that he had drank not wisely, but too many gin fizzes. “Mrs, Bingley,’’ he said, looking sharply at his wife, ‘‘are there any headache pills in the house?’” “Yes, dear,”’ replied Mrs. Bingley, trying to suppress the smile which the question evoked. ‘*Does your head ache, Peter?” “Yes, it does!’’ growled Bing- ley. ‘*And, Mrs. Bingley,’’ he con- tinued firmly, ‘‘I am late this morn- ing. Ileave town on the nine-forty- five train for Boston. Important business! Very important! Now, what you have got to do is to hurry up and help me to get ready.”” “But, Peter,’’ said his wife, ‘tyou haven’t had any breakfast!’’ Breakfast! I don’t want any breakfast. See here—where is my collar button?’” “It’s in your shirt, Peter,’’ re- plied his wife, and this time she laughed lightly. “Is it?”” snapped Bingley. ‘It's A SMALL BOY'S IDEA OF A PHILANTHROPIST a fat lot to laugh at, isn’t it? But it is just like a woman. The least thing seems to please ’em!’’ “T proved that to you some years ago, dear.”’ “‘How was that?’’ asked Bingley, holding his head between his hands. “‘Why, when I married you,’’ laughed his wife, as she left the room. Bingley said nothing, but he could not just understand how to take his wife's remark. At last, after much fussing and growling, he was ready, and, gin- gerly kissing his wife good-by, he picked up his grip and left the house, to be gone, as he supposed, about ten days. Five blocks away from home he met a messenger boy, who knew him, and, putting out his hand, said, “A message for you, Mr. Bingley.’” Bingley opened the telegram and read: “Peter Bingley—Change in or- ders at Boston. Will not need you for a few days. Will wire when ready. “Sellem & Soakem.”” Bingley was greatly pleased at the news. His elation caused him to give the lad a quarter as he dis- comicbooks.com