Judge, 1917-04-07 · page 13 of 28
Judge — April 7, 1917 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a romantic short story rather than political satire. The narrative depicts a scene from a high-society musical event where a handsome woman pulls aside a male acquaintance ("John") to seek romantic advice. The plot: She's been proposed to by Christopher Jones, a wealthy widower and multimillionaire who moves in exclusive social circles. She's conflicted—not because he lacks money or status, but because she needs counsel on the relationship itself. The satire targets **aristocratic pretension and social climbing**: The woman is excited by Jones's wealth (his "golden halo") yet wants to appear above mercenary considerations. John's skepticism—suggesting she needs no advice when marrying a rich man—highlights the transparency of her dilemma. The piece mocks how upper-class society navigates marriage, where wealth and status supposedly solve all problems, yet genuine emotional questions persist. The irony is that she seeks advice precisely *because* he's wealthy and powerful, undermining any claim this decision isn't materially motivated.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
A ROUNODABO By Joa, UT APPROACH WALDRON N ARISTOCRATIC amateur had been struggling ambitiously with Lucia’s melodious ravings. After her effort there was genteel applause, and conversation that had necessarily been at a high pitch while she sang took on more confidential tones. A handsome fellow, remotely seated, was good-naturedly ening to the be- guiling persiflage of a florid dowager. A handsome woman part who had eyed him hungrily was listening to the soft erbiage of a portly person whose habitual pompousness she had melted to homage. She caught the handsome chap’s eye as she excused herself and rose with a parting word of kindness to the portly one and the handsome chap, excusing himself to the dowager, followed her to the conservatory. When they were beyond audible range the handsome woman, with a slight show of excitement, seized the handsome chap’s lapel. “T'm in troubl “Serious?” he “Some would consider it a fortunate trouble, if that is not a paradox. I want your advice, John.” “That all?” “Don’t take it so lightly, please. It really is something of moment. You know Christopher Jones? You saw me with him a moment ago?” “T saw you with him. I know him slightly. He moves in an atmosphere quite out of my regular reach. He has a sort of golden halo, you know.” “Yes. That’ Or a part of it.” “A part of what?” “My serious trouble. He ‘has millions.” “Well, he seemed to be just an ordinary man as I glimpsed him with you. You had taken all his self-consciousness away, and put in its place a phase of... .” “Oh, I know what you mean.” “Well, is there any deterring element in millions?” “Sometimes there may be. I’m serious—terribly in earnest.” “About what, pray? A woman with such a possibility has little need of advice.” “But J need it. And you are the one person who can give “He—he—just asked me to marry him.” “T congratulate you.” “But I don’t want congratulations. I ask you for advice.” se you to... .” Aren’t you curious—not the least curious—about such a matter?” “Well, yes, ina way. I’m curious to know just how—in what terms—a multimillionaire—a widower, too—proposes marriage to a handsome woman much younger than he is—