Judge, 1916-11-25 · page 9 of 32
Judge — November 25, 1916 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three separate humorous items typical of early 20th-century satirical magazines: **Top cartoon**: A father and son discuss a golf ball. The joke plays on perspective—the son assumes it's "lost" because he observed someone searching for it, demonstrating childish but logical reasoning. **"Statistics" article**: Satirizes statisticians as obsessive number-crunchers who extract meaning from data to justify arguments about society's improvement or decline, then become upset when their own subway experience contradicts their conclusions. The satire suggests statisticians are emotionally invested in their theories rather than objectively analytical. The accompanying dentist joke implies only professionals who listen without judgment can befriend statisticians. **Two brief jokes**: "A Drop Too Much" plays on a woman's assumption that advice-giving involves literal drops (of liquor). The final quip ("All women are the same, but they look very different") is observational humor about female appearance. **Bottom cartoon**: Men buying roasted chestnuts are warned the product contains worms—a cynical commentary on urban food safety or vendor trustworthiness.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Father—How do you know this is a lost ball? Son—Because I saw the man and his caddy looking for it STATISTICS The only man who dares to talk to a statistician without ‘OW statistics have their uses as do family trees and yester- getting all tangled up and panicky is—his dentis day's newspapers We do not mean to say that one cannot be friendly with a Among other things, they keep a lot of people busy who — statistician—anyone can be friendly with a_ statistician—if might otherwise be draining the Hudson in — he'll only give him an excuse and then listen. order to count the fish, or digging up Man- In fact, the sad part of a statistician’s life is his craving for hattan in order to clinch some argument a friend —Charles Elkin, Jr. about rock formation. But any sane biped who thinks he can A Drop Too Much construct to-morrow’s end from the statis- She—Well. did you drop him a bit of good advice? tics of yesterday's beginning, is not only He—Uh-hu hunting for trouble, but he is going to have She—How did he take it? a mighty successful hunt. He—For a lemon drop, 1 guess. If a chap would only be contented after writing down enough figures to prove that the world is All women are the same, but they look very different. getting hotter or colder, or richer or poorer, no- body would get restless. But such a chap never is contented until he has kicked up a big row and tried to crowd us all into his remarkable-looking tables. \ lot of people insist that figures always tell the truth, and when you murmur Pilate’s question, What is Truth? they just sort of paw the atmos- phere. A statistician will almost weep with joy through discovering that New York City has the largest population, and then he will almost weep with rage because he gets a bit mussed up in the subway. If you try to talk to some people about the price of flour, you will end up in the wheat fields of one of the Pharaohs And, then again, if you start to smile because it is Spring, some one will drag out a list of Spring - blizzards running back to the year they built The Jey—This is a reliable place to get your Thanksgiving dinner—eh, Bill ? Sphinx. Bill—You bet! Every chestnut has a worm in it. comicbooks.com