Judge, 1916-01-01 · page 16 of 28
Judge — January 1, 1916 — page 16: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page presents a serialized romance story rather than political satire. The narrative depicts a reunion between two former lovers: a woman of apparent wealth and a man who left years earlier (to Alaska, seeking fortune) after refusing to marry her because of pride—he wouldn't accept being seen as a "beggar" living on her money. The story explores early 20th-century social anxieties about courtship and class. The man's insistence on financial independence before marriage, and their mutual concern about what "intimates" would say about an unequal match, reflects period attitudes toward propriety and social standing. Their debate over whether he should have written during his absence—weighing romantic connection against avoiding "despondency"—captures contemporary tensions between emotion and rational Victorian restraint. This appears to be serialized fiction typical of *Judge* magazine's entertainment content, not political commentary.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
EPISODES THA T DIDN’T COUNT WwaLpRron = ' CFELLOW )@ IS EYES met hers and recognition was immediate. She jo H turned her car from the procession and drew up to the curb, where he joined her. “Just two years,” she remarked. “Two years toa day,” he replied. “That was the period I fixe you'll remember. “When did you -eturn? Weren't you going to look me up?” “T got in this morning. 'Phoned an hour ago. You were out “Come She thrust an extra wrap and a robe from the beside her. “Get in, p We've something to talk about. “Quite a lot.”” He climbed into her car. She swung back into the procession on the Avenue and at the next corner took a less crowded ‘ay and ran under the speed limit. “You remember when we last rode together?””. She looked up at him smiling. “TI called you too sentimental.” “Because I wouldn’t marry you, though I loved you. “And I rebelled, holding you weren't to blame because the trustee of your father’s estate had stolen your patrimon; “Yet you remember my answer, when you asked me i have married you if you had lost your money instead? Two y isn’t long, after all; but we had better remind each other of all that conversation.” “Yes. You said then you would have felt like a beggar living on my bounty. It really was nonsense—a foolish fastidiousness.”” “But I’m of the same opinion still.” “[’'m still of the other opinion. I don’t see why two persons who at I would rs care for cach other need concern themselves about what others think I'll grant you that as a natural proposition, But we can't deal with life upon the natural impulse that survives. Life is artificial. Cc ation has erected certain hazards that control. We have inherited habits and prejudi nd are victims of environment. I didn’t want any of your intimates to say behind your back that you had taken pity on me. Nor did I want any of my intimates for your sake as well as my own—to raise their eyebrows behind my back. Even friends, you know, are deceitful in some things. Our artificial life breeds duplicity.” “But you were wrong in one thing.” “Tn what?” “In insisting when you went away to Alaska to win fortune . . “A foolish venture these days. Oblivion is the surer end of such an enterprise.” “Don’t interrupt. other. That we should be silent for two you would come back, or I should consider you lost. That was wrong. Life is too complex these days, according to your own argument, to put affection away somewhere under a time lock and expect nothing will happen.” “That I my In insisting that we shouldn't write cach ars, at the end of which elf have learned. But I thought letters to and fro in the circumstances would serve only to promote despondency. I had no definite hope of fortune.” I heard of it. ‘et it came to you. And the manner in comicbooks.com