Judge, 1913-06-21 · page 9 of 24
Judge — June 21, 1913 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
The cartoon satirizes early 20th-century debates about women's rights and marriage equality. Mr. Youngby announces he's "converted"—abandoning the Victorian practice of treating wives as delicate, superior beings requiring protection—and proposes treating her as an equal partner instead. His wife initially celebrates this "enlightenment," but when he details the practical implications (she'd work, share financial worries, manage without chivalrous gestures), she emotionally rejects the idea, begging to remain on a "pedestal." **The satire's point**: The cartoon mocks both sides—men who patronize women under the guise of protection, AND women who claim to want equality but actually prefer traditional dependency and romantic idealization. It suggests that genuine equality was threatening to both genders' established roles. The title "The Good Old Ways" ironically endorses the status quo while exposing its hollow contradictions.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR The «MY DEAR,” said Mr. Youngby, put- ting aside his pipe and motioning her to come and sit on his lap, ‘‘I have been converted. I am ready at last to have you stand beside me, my equal—no more, no less."* “Oh, John, I’m so glad!’? She wound her arm around his neck and laid her soft cheek against his. ‘‘I knew you would see the light some day."’ “The first time I saw you,"’’ he mused reminiscently, ‘‘I wondered if you could be mortal! Your radiant beauty, sweet- ness and purity seemed almost divine.”” Her warm, red lips covered his mouth for an instant. “‘When you promised to marry me,"’ he said softly, ‘‘I felt that, with you to in- spire me, I should be acleaner, stronger, more efficient man. And I have been." A tender squeeze indicated that she was listening raptly. Even marriage seemed not to bring you down to my level. To this day I have continued to look up to you as a finer, sweeter, higher being than myself. Silly, wasn’t it?”’ he said dryly. Mrs. Youngby sat up precipitately. Good If they had played baseball in Nero's day. Old By TERRELL LOVE HOLLIDAY “After we were married, I worked overtime that you might keep a maid and hire your sewing. I couldn't bear to have these’’—he took her white, dim- pled hand and touched its pink satin palm—‘‘become calloused and grimed by housework. And it wasn’t fair to you,’’ he said self-accusingly. “*Wh-what do you mean?’’ she asked. ““All the time,’’ he replied, ‘‘you were just a faulty human being and wanted to be treated as such. Well, strong and capable, you wished to help earn the liv- ing, or, at least, to contribute in house- hold duties your half toward the copart- nership which we had formed.”* Mrs. Youngby gasped, but said nothing. “I have consistently acted as if you were too weak and silly to be areal help- mate to me, or even to take care of your- self. When we went out together, I knelt at your feet and put your rubbers on. I carried the umbrella or sunshade over you. I helned you across the slick places and carried you over the muddy ones. If there was only one vacant seat in the car, J hung to a strap every time, not half the time. Oh, I can see now Ways that I was constantly humiliating, sham- ing you.’” Her paralyzed tongue still refused to work. “During the panic, when every day for weeks I expected to lose my position, I selfishly refused to let you share my sleep- less nights and anxious days, as it was your right and privilege to do."” “Why —John’’—she quavered, then choked and stopped. “Don't ery,"’ said Youngby, but with- out a trace of the usual tenderness in his tones. ‘That is all past now. I'll quit petting, coddling and making a weakling of you. Hereafter we'll just be chums. equal in every way. You may knock about for yourself and be as sturdy and independent as you please. If you prefer to keep the maid and work downtown, I'll help you get a position, and’’—— “Oh, John,”’ she sobbed, burying her face in his waistcoat, ‘‘I don’t want to be your equal!’* She hugged him con- vulsively. ‘‘I want to be your sweet- heart, your angel! Put me back upon my pedestal, and I'll stay there forever and ever!"” comicbooks.com