Judge, 1914-02-07 · page 12 of 24
Judge — February 7, 1914 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This story satirizes early 20th-century marital suspicion and the era's leisured class. Billy Speedwell, a wealthy man, arrives home late claiming to have been at work; his wife Mrs. Speedwell is skeptical. When a newspaper personal ad addresses "Billy" from someone named "Maude," she suspects an affair. The satire cuts both ways: Billy dismissively explains away her concerns with the logic that "William" and "Maude" are common names—a transparent excuse. Mrs. Speedwell, rather than confront him directly, engineers a clever trap: she finds an actual Miss Maude Milton and deliberately introduces her to Billy, then offers to let them go together unchaperoned. Billy accepts with suspicious eagerness. The joke's conclusion—that Mrs. Speedwell never sees either of them again—suggests her scheme backfired spectacularly, implying Billy actually *was* unfaithful, or at minimum, readily willing to be. The satire mocks both marital dishonesty and the ineffectual way wives attempt to catch cheating husbands.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Reggie Snaffie—By jiminy ! GET IT? Fair partner—Why, she doesn't look a bit mad to me. She just glared at him, if a pretty woman can glare. ‘‘Who was with you? Maude?” “No. But I wish some pretty woman had been. I was trying to make a sale. Now, where were you last night?’’ “I was playing bridge. You seldom ask me to the theater.’” “How do I know you were playing bridge? And don’t I ask you to the thea- ter whenever I can spare time from my game, which is getting a living?” Mrs. Speedwell literally gritted her teeth, which is not a graceful thing for & pretty woman to do, as she frou-froued out in her silken negligee without another word. But Billy enjoyed his breakfast just the same, and he sent her a beauti- ful bouquet. Strangely enough, Mrs. Speedwell, with an expression that would turn milk sour, was waiting again for him the next morn- ing, thus beating the record. “‘What’s up, dearie?’’ he asked solicit- ously. ‘Anything happened?’’ She simply handed him a newspaper with a personal paragraph marked, and gimleted him with her eyes. This was the paragraph: B'LLY—You must surely meet me this morn- ing where I suggested. Maupe. “Well, that is funny!’’ Billy remarked. “‘Funny?’’ It would be impossible to describe Mrs. Speedwell’s pronunciation of the word. “‘Why, my dear,’’ said Billy, ‘‘don’t you know there are probably a hundred thousand persons in this town named Wil- liam, and most of them are addressed by the diminutive? And likewise there are probably as many women named Maude.”” Mrs. Speedwell laughed, but never was there a laugh less expressive of mirth. “‘Where are you going this morning?”’ she demanded. An auto horn sounded outside. “Hear that?’’ asked Billy. ‘*My ma- chine. A garage man in it. I’m going to the Automobile Show."” “T'll go with you.’’ Billy noted for the first time that she was fully dressed, except for wraps. ‘‘AlIl right,’’ he said. ‘‘But hurry.’’ Downtown they went. Mrs. Speedwell declined to get in the front seat with Billy. Stopping on the verge of a crush of machines near the show, she saw a pretty young woman who seemed to be waiting for some one. She fancied she saw a sign of recognition between the young woman and Billy. She beckoned to the young woman, who approached. “Is your name Maude?”’ asked Mrs. Speedwell. The young woman looked at Mrs. Speed- well in amazement, and then laughed. “HY I am Miss Maude Milton.’’ “T say, Josephine,’’ said Billy, ‘‘aren’t you exceeding the speed limit in this?’” Look at the way that girl takes a fence. “Is this yours, madam?’’ asked Mrs. Speedwell, ignoring Billy and taking a dainty handkerchief from her bag. Miss Milton took the handkerchief and exclaimed with pleasure, ‘‘Yes!’” “‘Where did you lose it, pray?’” “Why, I must have dropped it in Pea- cock Alley!’ “Indeed! This,’’ said Mrs. Speedwell, turning with painful formality—and her tone would assay one hundred per cent. sarcasm—‘‘is my husband, Mr. William Speedwell. I don’t suppose you know him, but wouldn’t you like to take a lit- tle spin with him?” Mrs. Speedwell stepped down from the car. Miss Milton didn’t answer, but she looked curiously at Billy, who had re- gained his good nature. ‘‘Yes. Why not?"’ said he. Miss Milton climbed into the seat with Billy, who backed out, and away they went. Strange things happen. Mrs. Speed- well hasn’t seen either of them since. Sufficient Mary—The doctor says this illness of mine is caused by a germ. Agnes—What did he call it? Mary—I don’t remember. the disease, but not the name. I caught Doubtful accusations, like grease spots, leave a stain behind. comicbooks.com