Judge, 1916-09-23 · page 17 of 32
Judge — September 23, 1916 — page 17: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains satirical humor and social commentary typical of Judge magazine's content. The main illustrated cartoon depicts women at an exclusive country club (Nassau Country Club, Glen Cove, Long Island), showing the leisure activities of wealthy women. The dialogue jokes about a wife deliberately "locking Jim up" (jailing her husband) to assert independence and prove she has "spunk"—satirizing both marital dynamics and women's limited agency in the era. Below are several brief humorous items: "The Lost Ideal" mocks President Woodrow Wilson and Mexican revolutionary Venustiano Carranza; "The Supersub" contains unclear context; and "From a Sinner's Diary" offers cynical observations on marriage, religion, wealth, and human nature. The overall tone reflects early 20th-century upper-class American attitudes—poking fun at gender relations, politics, and social hypocrisy while assuming readers shared the magazine's elite perspective.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
AT THE NASSAU COUNTRY CLUB, GLEN COVE, LONG ISLAND Marjorie to the young wife: “Wasn’t it queer how that turned out—when we locked Jim up?” “T don’t know. I thought it would make Jim think I had some spunk. I thought I'd let him know he was not the only cave- dweller on that ranch!” “Honest, Madge?” “Cross my heart, Jack!” The Lost Ideal To put the whole thing in a lump, Or, rather, in a stanza: Once Woodrow thought he was a trump, But now ask who's the champion chump, And he will say Carranza.—S. E. Kiser. The Supersub ing over to Europe? I don't see why Jimmie didn’t join here, it’s so near his home. From a Sinner’s Diary —all the time more to carry on, | the time less to carry it on with. z good news for a woman this morning, I wrote. Had it been bad I'd have extracted a dime and phoned. Marrying 1000 acres may mean money. Again it may mean work. Sinner—One who puts in his time antidoting the Lord’s blunders. After Burbank gets the spines off the cactus why don’t he figure out a way to graft ’em onto spineless people? Next door is an old clawed-up tom-cat. His name is Dolly. Didn’t-know-it-was-loaded makes it no less painful for the shootee. Anybody needs religion, just to look around, if there’s anything in it that can blind one to facts. We'd like everybody were we lucky cnough to be camped on their south side. The other morning when I went to put on my rubber boots to go pick ber- Helen—I think that was the trouble! ries, a big spider boiled out. Within ninety hours I had a present of $25. ¢ always lucky to me. ay be plenty of philosophers who've never had a chance to work it out. After awhile, sometimes, we get to know folks whose names we've always seen in the papers. And, murder! They’re worse’n we are. Before doing something for somebody quick it might be well to find out whether somebody wants it done. Real luck would be in not caring one tectotal drat for anything. The Lord made the cats with their bird appetites same as He did the birds with their berry appetites, far as I know, Let’s not take any comfort, whatever we do. The stinger is never on the front end. What’s hog-tied? Snarled up in the lariat till you're anxious for the branding iron? —Lynette Freemire. comicbooks.com