Judge, 1913-06-21 · page 6 of 24
Judge — June 21, 1913 — page 6: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This Judge magazine page contains two separate satirical pieces: **Main Story (Top/Right):** A humorous rural tale about two small-town rivals—Eli Pivens and Lem Pembrook—who've feuded for thirty years over a baseball game. Their petty animosity persists into local politics. The satire mocks how trivial personal grudges dominate small-town life and governance. When Pembrook (now justice of the peace) learns they'll play baseball on Sunday—illegal at the time—he paradoxically allows it, then invites a Dutch immigrant friend to witness the match. The joke appears to be about hypocrisy and the absurdity of enforcing religious restrictions selectively. **Side Comic (Left):** Titled "HO! HUM! THAT'S THE WAY WITH WOMEN," this three-panel sketch satirizes wives as vague and illogical. A woman complains about a mousetrap in "that corner," but when her exasperated husband asks which corner, she can't specify. The humor relies on the period's tired stereotype of female imprecision—typical of early-20th-century gender satire. Both pieces reflect Judge's focus on domestic and small-town Americana with gentle mockery.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Pivens lifted its telescopic elongation from the rear of piled-up boxes of dried herrings and sauntered into the spotlight of the swinging oil lamp. He poked his bunch of spin- ach out, shook his finger at the other, and said, in a voice that trembled with fury, “Tt may be amusin’ for you, Lem Pembrook, to throw that forty-year- old game in my face ev'ry chance yougit. But it won’t be so amusin’ when you run for jestice o’ the . peace next time. I'm ag'in you, have be'n for thirty years, and will be for thirty more.’” “Eli Pivens, as sure as I live! Eli, don’t you go and get all heated up! Don’t harbor any hard feel- ings because my nine of North Siders beat your South Siders hands down, Listen, Eli. Just so sure as you run against me, just so sure will I do you up. See? Same as I did when I pitched my side to glory and made you fan out"’ “Dern my skin! Lem Pembrook, you sent over a kerwholloper that hit me in the middle and took my breath ‘way. It knocked me out the game. Only for that I'd ha’ smashed the kiver off the ball and won the game. Iwas putout by that kerwholloper. See? Howsomever, the Bingville bunch will plaster it over your Pleasant Valley crowd next Sunday’’—— “‘Wh-at? On Sunday? Play ball on Sunday in Pleasant Valley? I never heard of such a thing! Why, the good people won't stand for i “No; they'll sit down in the grass and take it that way. My nephey, Joe Joslumb, he pitches for the Bingvillyuns next Sunday. He'll wipe up the ground with the hum bunch. You hear me? HO! HUM! THAT'S THE WAY WITH WOMEN 1 Voice from adjoining room — William, 1 am sure there is a mouse in the trap over in that corner. Wittiam—Ohb. why do women persist in setting traps at night to disturd one’s rest! ul William —What cor- ner.I pray? You w en always say that cor ner, ho on earth ever knows what you ‘re driving at — ML —Ouen! here itis! Now why couldn't you just as well the corner nearest me? ASTRONOMICAL CHART MADE BY A BASEBALL “ FAN" “You astonish me! Play ball on Sunday—and here? It’s ag’in the law.” “You can’t stop the game, if you have be'n jestice o’ the peace for thirty years."’ i, I'll not try to stop the game. Far be it from me to stand in the way of the gentle sport of baseball—even on Sun- I could if I wanted to—for I am the limb of the law in these parts. In fact, 1am the law. See? I'll be on hand to see that no disturbances take place next Sunday. Yes, you bet that I'll be there! I don't think that Bingville bunch will carry off the honors—not much! Good-night, Eli."” The old village justice of the peace went home, chuckling. And that was the reason why the gentle old justice of the peace of Pleasant Valley dropped a line to his friend in the big city to come up for over Sunday. Hecame. Dutch? Very! Aye! From the peak of his cap to his toes he was Dutch. He could scarcely understand English—and when he tried to talk it, his eyes bulged out, his tongue got all balled up, and his face twitched terribly. But he landed some fine speckled beauties when he engaged Lemuel Pembrook’s private trout preserve. He might be Dutch, all right, but he was a veritable Isaac Walton when it came-to jollying the fish from underneath the lilies, the shelv- ing banks, the foaming pools and the rippling rivulets. He was a fisher from away back. Pembrook clapped him upon his broad back and said, “Good joke! If you can get them out like that, you are an artist after my own sort. Bully boy!’" “Ach! I fish carps in der old country. Yes, I am fisher.” And the ungainly city chap smiled at the old justice. Dinner over, the strange-looking pair sauntered down to the close-cropped green, where the cohorts of the national game were already gathering. A few here and there were against However, a8 Sunday baseball—but they were in the minority. comicbooks.com