Judge, 1914-09-26 · page 9 of 24
Judge — September 26, 1914 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains several satirical pieces reflecting early 20th-century American concerns: **"His Choice"** (top): A woman explorer describes ruling a Pacific island tribe after civilizing them with Paris fashions and dance lessons. When invited home, she refuses—preferring her newfound power over men to her suffrage activism back home. The satire targets both female ambition and the period's imperialist attitudes, mocking both "civilizing mission" rhetoric and women's political aspirations as inherently self-serving. **"Fickle Man"** (middle): A brief joke about male inconsistency in romance—a man tells different women contradictory things. **"What They Expect"** (right): Commentary on socialists criticizing the American flag, dismissing their logic as absurd while suggesting flag-wavers are equally irrational. Appears skeptical of both patriotic excess and anti-flag sentiment. **"Her Preference"** (bottom): A wife prefers her husband alive but foolish to dead but heroic—practical over romantic idealism about military sacrifice. The page satirizes suffragism, male infidelity, patriotism debates, and wartime attitudes.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
trunks on a raft. I drifted into this place one afternoon, just in time for tea, and just as they were getting ready to serve me for tea cakes, one of the savages yelled. He had opened the trunks, and in a moment the whole tribe was into them. It gave me an idea. Witha lot of signs 1 took charge of the trunks, s and before long I had those savages dressed to kill in ms flo my Paris things; and really, Pemby, their old finery looked like mourning apparel in compari- son. Then I taught them a few tango and maxixe steps, and their old war dances seem like somnambulism now. I was a hit. The fat chief (he’s the one over there in the green wig) adbicated in my favor, and there you are !”” “Perfectly marvelous!’’ exclaimed Pembroke. ou’re wonderful, Eleanor; but I'd rather talk to ycu on board the Seabird. You can tell me all the details on our way home _Let’s hurry. Your friends will be mad with joy!" “Gohome, Pemby? Leave this island, where I'm absolute boss of all the men I see, after I've marched in every suffrage parade for the last five years and pleaded my head off for just such a position as this? Well, hardly, Pemby! You run along back and tell everybody ‘Hello!’ and that President Villington invites them to the Republic of Chi Fon over any week-end they may choose !’’ Watch out for the man who has eaten of the Tree of Knowledge and looks as if it was a sour crab. \ \ HIS CHOICE Karl (after inspection of his three newly-arrived brothers) — Father, which of these are we going to keep? Fickle Man May—Bob has developed into a very successful storyteller. Fay—I should think he had! Sunday he told me I was the only girl he cared for, and to-day I saw him at the races with the Widow Bornhigh. HIS CHEST PROTECTOR Let me feel your heart action. growth on your chest. Pat—Sure, that's our cat. Ab, most remarkable! You appear to have T'll have to operaté at once. I think the one in the middle is the best looking. What They Expect ee QVHAT do socialists expect to gain by offensive references to the flag?’’ asks the New York World. Alas! these poor, misguided souls hope to reverse the policy of those who spend so much time praising the flag. They jump to the foolish conclusion that if sky- rocket, spread-eagle apotheoses of the flag will fill legislative halls with dilly- dallyers and wishy-washers, reviling the flag will fill them with sensible legislat- ing men of profound sympathies and broad vision. Of course the idea is absurd, but it is pardonable. So long as one set of people hide behind the flag, another set will want to tear it down. But why not cease talking about the flag and confine our attention more exclusively to the things that are going on beneath it? —Ellis 0. Jones. Her Preference Young Mawks had decided to enlist and go to war, and his wife was objecting. “But, darling,”” he argued, ‘‘even if I were killed, just think how fine it would be to be the widow of a hero!’’ “Oh, no, Wilfrid,’’ pleaded the young wife earnestly, her mind reverting to a familiar proverb; ‘‘I would rather be the wife of a live jackass than a dead lion.” comicbooks.com