Judge, 1914-05-09 · page 6 of 25
Judge — May 9, 1914 — page 6: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from *Judge* magazine presents nostalgic small-town Americana alongside social commentary. **"The Home Paper"** (left): A sentimental piece celebrating a local rural newspaper—the *Punktown Bugle*—despite its shabby printing and dated content. The speaker cherishes it because it reports on familiar neighbors (Old Peter's cow, Jonas Boggs's ordinance violations, James Zimmerman's home improvements). This romanticizes provincial life and community connection. **"Concerning Conversation"** (right): A tavern keeper complains about hotel guests' relentless socializing—drummers (traveling salesmen) griping about management, complainers about food, demanding waitresses, and a guest playing William J. Bryan phonograph records. The piece satirizes both the modern traveling businessman culture and the perceived entitlement of service workers and guests, suggesting constant conversation has become an exhausting modern plague. **"'Twas Ever Thus"** (bottom): A baseball cartoon with minimal caption, likely a simple visual gag about the game. The satire targets modern annoyances while celebrating rural simplicity.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
‘WALT Ng HE Punktown Bugle comes to hand on Friday of each weck; @ rawer sheet, in all the land, me- thinks, you'll vainly seek. It has of ink a greasy coat that soils my cuffs and bib; its type was old when Greeley wrote his essays for the Trib. It’s printed now and then in red or other gaudy tint, and I must stand upon my head deciphering the print. And yet, when that old Bugle comes, my tired eyes dance and shine; I quit my figures and my sums and read it, every line. I'd throw away the noblest book or skip a chance to eat, to pick the Bugle up and look through that old dizzy sheet. I'd drop the newest, fair- est mag, with all its wealth of art, to read that musty Th You say such stuff is tommyrot, from jay reporter's ; but every item hits the spot and makes me young again. listen to it all with scorn and say it’s stale and slow; it ple: me—for I was born at Punktown, long ago! Concerning Conversation eeJ'VE HEARD it said,'’ gloomily began the landlord of Torpidville tavern, ‘‘that conversation has become a art; but nothing of the kind has occurred in the hotel busir Instead of which, conversation flourishes in and around yere inn till to all intents and purposes you can’t hear anyt! else. Itseemsasif every conversationalist on earth comes c across the map to climb on my neck and complain about many hotels he has seen that were run better than this and how few he has that wasn’t. Drummers that don’t se! town merchants as many goods as they think they ort to agents that go out and get theirselves dog-bit, blame me fo I generally have at least one guest on hand who drinks b’ water, and another who can’t eat anything but raw nut some such truck, and they hold me personally responsibl: the condition of their stomachs and brains. “Then there is the lady crank. Sometimes she is thin stringy and inherits a mean disposition from a fine old far At other times she is a masterly lady with too many double chins. Funny, too, but the waspish woman nearly always has big, fat, frightened husband in the background, while the la savage lady is generally married more or less to a poor, skin runt that looks like a cold-storage chicken. I reckon it is the law of retaliation working out. “But, worst of all, there is the conversation of the dining-room girls, Maxine and Sylphie, about how a poor, mil- dewed sunnavagun of a landlord ort to treat young ladies who are doing him a favor by waiting table for him at all. And here of late one of the men guests has got himself a phonograph with William J. Bryan records and the like, a lady guest has been left @ green parrot by will. I be wrong, but I believe everything worth saying has alre: been said!"’ —Tom P. Mo crossroads rag, whose stories reach my heart. “Old Peter Prune has bought a cow, his old one having died; we hope that he'll be happy now and not swell up with pride.”” Thus speaks the Bugle, and I spring a retrospective smile; I knew old Peter, and, by jing! his cow was well worth while. That sort of news, you say, would give the willies to a bo. Ah, well, you see, I used to live at Punktown, long ago! “Complaint is made that Jonas Boggs the ordi- nance would beat; he pastures all his cows and hogs along the village street."” “James Zimmerman has set the pace by painting up his shack. Good work, Friend Jim! Let others chase themselves along your track !"” “The mudhole in the public square disgraces our fair town, for sundry teams have foundered there, and children there may drown.’’ “Some wretched fiend in human form stole prunes from Grocer Vail; our village marshal now is warm upon the felon’s trai “Sam Jones has bought a runabout—seat wide enough for two. Perhaps he'll take a widow out; we wonder—say, don’t you?’’ “Sim Piker tried to shoe his mule, and, while he trimmed its hoof, the long-eared and ungrateful fool just kicked him through the roof.’” ‘TWAS EVER THUS When there are three men on bases and the batter, with three balls and two strikes, makes a home run comicbooks.com