Judge, 1915-10-23 · page 11 of 28
Judge — October 23, 1915 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This story satirizes a common turn-of-the-century confidence scheme: a poor man (an unnamed court reporter) impersonates the wealthy George Crosby to seduce a young woman, Isabel, and her socially-ambitious mother during a seaside flirtation. When discovered, the impostor writes a confession letter admitting his deception—but cleverly signs it under his false name. The real George Crosby receives the mother's indignant rejection letter instead. The con artist's final move is brilliant: he preserves the mother's letter as "evidence" proving her daughter was pursued by (what she believes is) the actual millionaire, potentially useful for blackmail or future schemes. The satire targets both the gullibility of social climbers and the resourcefulness of con artists. The accompanying small cartoons joke about social pretension and financial irresponsibility—typical Judge magazine fare mocking middle-class anxieties of the era.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
GATHERING EVIDENCE By H.W. DEE SABEL and her clever mother had taken him for the mil- I lionaire George Crosby. This disturbing intelligence flashed upon him right at the climax of the maudlin pro- posal that brought his rampant seaside flirtation to a close. It might have been an accident— Mother’s coming around the bit of shrubbery just as he breathed his most impossible vows. But her polished em- barrassment and her adroitness in reliev- ing the situation by kissing her “dear children” and blessing them convinced him that the first flash of suspicion was well founded. In spite of the confusing mixture of proposal and parental resignation George quickly began to appreciate what the immediate future held for him. He was loath to admit that he was not the millionaire Crosby and he was sens- ible to the ultimate folly of fostering the impression that he was. Perhaps Time would show him a way out. Time had helped him before. The next morning at eleven, as Isabel and her mother were eating adainty breakfast—more dainty than usual—in their room at the Plymouth, a maid glided in with a tray of notes and letters. One was from the Hotel Marlborough. Mother opened it eagerly, and read—with interest: My Dearest Isabel: From the first I've acted the blundering fool. 1 sce it clearly now. I shoul have sailed under my true colors. My bewildering love for you is the only HOW HE DARED Imogene—How dare you tip your hat to me, sir! We are not acquainted. ON HIS WAY Officer—Hey ! where ye goin’? Equestrian—Er—South-east ! excuse [ have, That an exact similarity of names and a sudden call to New York should permit a penniless court reporter to play the millionaire and win the heart of the dearest girl on earth is a strange throw of fortune, I know. Dearest, my heart bids me hope that I may come and explain all love and my ambition pay the claim you have against me. Something tells me that you will yet find me worthy. Affectionately, Let my Write me that I may come. G.c. Two days later George Crosby, millionaire, sat in his New York apartments. The Japanese valet had just handed him a precise looking letter, forwarded from the Hotel Marlborough. He was plainly perplexed and seemed unwilling to know the contents of the missive, but finally tore away the envelope hurriedly and read: Mr. George Crosby, Suite HH West, Hotel Marlborough. My dear Sir: Assuredly my daughter shall not sce you nor hear from, you again. You have absolutely no valid claim upon her. She certainly would not be so ridiculous as to take a mere summer flirtation seriously. Don’t flatter yourself that she will press any claim against you or that she even bas any claim against you. We trust that we may be spared the doubtful pleasure of encountering you again. Sincerely, (Mrs.) Marti Spain. The look of perplexity faded and a quiet smile played ‘over his fea- tures. “Here, Togo,” he called, “seal this and place it in the strong box. Be very careful with it. It’s valu- able—evidence.” No Criterion S$ WOMAN loves by fit and start, She'll smile, and then she'll weep it; Don’t think because you've won her heart, My boy, that you can keep it. —J. J. O'Connell. As the Twig Is Bent Hills—What line does your son take to? Mills—Contracting. Debts. For dad to pay! Larry—No; but this hat belones to my brother, and he knows you. ) comicbooks.com