Judge, 1914-03-07 · page 5 of 24
Judge — March 7, 1914 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
The top illustration, titled "Meaning Matrimony," depicts a social scene satirizing class attitudes toward marriage. The caption shows a father telling his daughter "I admit I am poor; but poverty is no crime," while the daughter's suitor responds skeptically. The satire mocks the hypocrisy of wealthy families who claim to value character over money while actually prioritizing financial status in matrimonial prospects. Below this is "A Tale of False Teeth" by H.T. Nichols, a humorous short story about a man (Braunce) encountering difficulties in cold weather while traveling. The narrative emphasizes physical discomfort and social embarrassment—likely satirizing both frontier hardships and the pretensions of traveling "celebrities." Both pieces represent Judge's typical early-20th-century social commentary through humor.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
MEANING MATRIMONY Her suitor—\ admit | am poor; but poverty is no crime. Her father—Er—no. Not until you commit something else. POKED the heaped-up bedclothes ese seseseSesesesesesesesesese “Gr-r-r-r!'’ Braunce bounded to respectfully, but urgently. A personal conductor of the great must combine force with finesse. The mountain of blankets moved, a head protruded, a sleepy voice By W. A Tale of False Teeth NICHOLS sesesesesesesesesesesesesi the washstand; no languorous linger- ing in him now, believe me! I'd stuffed his dress trousers and a pair of shoes into his grip, when I heard him growling. And there he was, mumbled protest. “Clerk forgot the call,’’ said I. the stage.’” To discourage hesitancy I pulled back a layer of coverings. There was convulsive upheaval of the rest, and a bald-headed, pajamaed and very reluctant gentleman emerged. “Br-r-r-r!’” he gasped, as his feet struck the floor. I didn’t blame him. room in a northern New England country hotel; conditions, window open, cold snap on, thermometer twenty-eight below zero. Chance acquaintances get an idea that Braunce—John Ches- terfield Braunce, A.M., Ph.D., F.R.S. and the rest of it—is in- dolent. They say he looks it, even if he did climb Andean peaks nobody else could scale. (Incidentally, it was because of this climbing and the to-do the :papers made about it that he was playing the northern circuit for our Bureau of Profitable Publicity for Celebrities Delivered ‘Right at the Door of the Best People.) “Twelve minutes to catch Time, five-forty-eight a. m.; place, a. dilly-dallying, wasting precious min- utes juggling a fat little pitcher. “Pardon me!’’ I sang out. ‘‘We’ve got to hustle!’’ He whipped about, still holding the plump jug. The cold had an awful grip on him; he was shivering as only a portly man can shiver. His face seemed to have shriveled. His cheeks were sunken; there’d been a regular Culebra slide in the region of his mouth; his chin was up against his nose— almost. “Gwog!"’ said he. tation for eloquence! he didn't do so badly. “Oh! water frozen?” said I. and’’?—— “Gwog!’’ he groaned, and pawed the ice in the fat little pitcher. “That's drinking water,’”’ I told him, ‘*Washing supply’s in the big tin ’un. But it’ll be solid, too.’’ Just as a hint I threw his traveling trousers at him. * “G-wog!’"—just that; and he had repu- Yet, if language is to convey thought, “Sure! Take a dry rub comicbooks.com