Judge, 1917-05-05 · page 12 of 30
Judge — May 5, 1917 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page illustrates a romantic comedy about Henry Arbuthnot Pickens, an idealistic artist who paints his fantasy woman from imagination. He literally collides with a girl on the street who matches his painting perfectly—she is, impossibly, his ideal made flesh. The joke's twist: the girl is unimpressed and dismisses him as a lunatic ("plain bugs"), telling him to "beat it." She leaves mocking him. Pickens initially devastated, then has an epiphany: he decides to exhibit the portrait itself as "an idea of mine," abandoning the pursuit of the real woman in favor of his artistic creation. The satire targets romantic idealism and artistic pretension—the irony that the artist values his imagined vision more than actual human connection. The lower cartoon's caption about winning a race for Margaret through "motor-cars and a box at the opera" reinforces that material displays matter more than genuine feeling.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
But it was no teeth of human love that drove Henry Arbuthnot Pickens in a swift’ unseeing tramp along the streets. The unattainableness of his ideal was goading him on. He had fixed her image forever—but where was She? “If 1 couldonly see her!” he groaned. “Why can’t Oh! L beg your pardon!” He had been so absorbed in his frantic plunging forward that he had forgotten that other pedes- trians were abroad, with the result that he had plumped head-on against a girl who was hurrying in the opposite direction. He thrust out an arm just in time to save her from falling; fora fleeting moment she rested her full weight on him, gasping from the shock. ‘The rays of a nearby are-lamp struck her face full—and Henry “Arbuthnot Pickens caught his breath. He saw that pertly- tipped nose; he saw the decp blue eyes, the mouth like a crumpled rose-petal, the white tegth gleam ing through the slightly parted lips; from under the trim little hat, disarranged by the jar of their collision, there escaped a wave of hair—that magnificent Titian hair that he had painted from the vision of his brain. He noted the slender body, the small hands, the perfect neck Good Lord!” cried Henry Arbuthnot Pickens. | The girl. as though roused by his ejaculation, || disengaged herself from his arm and uncertainly began to straighten her hat. Henry Arbuthnot Pickens cast discretion tothe winds and poured out his “Only to think!” he began. “Imagine my running into you of all people! After U'd painted you, and slaved over you. and prayed that you would come to life! You're the One I've been looking for—you're my ideal, alive! And [ didn’t have faith enough to | Oh, it’s a lesson to me—L'Il never abt again. I've found you—['ve found you——" You have,” interrupted the girl, “You've found some it where they sell it lio her ieve thin’ else. too, [dunno whether you or if you're just plain bugs; but take a tip from me, kid—you “How did George van Sleeve and Billy de Buyster come ‘out in their race for Margaret >” “Billy won by two motor-cars and a box at the opera A LABOR-SAVING DEVICE mamimet ick, or do 1 beat it “fore and the keeper for yours! G'wan, now—will you have to call a cop?” Henry Arbuthnot Pickens braced himself against the shock of this revelation. ‘The girl, after another look at him, strolled perambulator runs over you. Home away with a mocking laugh. His face burned; he strode off with his head high and his eyes straight before him. He reached the building that housed him and wearily ascended to his studio. There in the center of the room was the shrouded canvas that held his shattered dream. He savagely grasped a palette-knife and dit. An idea caught him. He went to the head of the stairs and shouted, “Harkness! O-o-oh! Harkness “What's uj reply from the lower regions. “Come up here a minute. old man—I want to show you something.” Groans and heavy footsteps heralded the approach of Hark ness. As he came into the studio Henry Arbuthnot Pick ens dramatically flipped) the cover from the vealed his masterpiece. Hark ness looked at it for a minute or so without speaking. Then, Say. youngster, that’s a cracking fine bi I didn't think you had it in you. What is she? What are you going to do with her?” “Oh, she’s an idea of mine,” came the lows of the rsel_ and re-