Judge, 1918-03-23 · page 3 of 32
Judge — March 23, 1918 — page 3: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two separate illustrated stories rather than political cartoons. The top illustration by R.B. Fuller depicts a domestic scene where a husband interrupts his wife's knitting to ask if she'll finish a sweater before he sails. The accompanying text humorously explores marital negotiation—the wife wants to buy an expensive gown, leveraging her willingness to complete the sweater as bargaining power. The lower illustration by Sanford Tousey shows a conductor addressing a female passenger about matching satin for her wife's dress, illustrating a comedic misunderstanding or awkward social interaction. Both are lighthearted domestic humor pieces typical of early-20th-century Judge magazine, focusing on marriage dynamics and gender relations rather than political satire. The jokes rely on everyday domestic scenarios rather than contemporary events.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
WLM get in, dear. Don’t you think Mrs. Lane is nice?” “T think,” I said, “that unless I am inside of this house within five minutes, Vesuvius is due for a record eruption.” “Can you remember whether that bodice puckered any behind? I’m a little uneasy about it.” At this juncture, Mrs. Lane re- turned with an assortment of keys. I began at the front door, and tried each key on every door of the build- ing. Not aone budged in the slight- est. I returned to the front porch. The prophesied eruption was due. “T don’t buy many clothes,” my wife was saying, “but what I do get I like to be nice. If there isn’t any- thing wrong with this gown I bought to-day I probably won’t buy anything else for ever so long. I know Lee thought it cost too much, but he is the nicest husband, and didn’t say a word.” “Ernest — Mr. Lane —is so thoughtful about my clothes,” testi- fied our neighbor, “he always wants me to get whatever I like, but I hardly ever buy anything until after he sees it. I want him to be pleased, too. Why, when I bought my taupe waist he was awfully busy, but when I called him on the phone he locked his office and came right on down to the store.” Draton by Saxrorp Tousey Mr. Sususs (to female conductor)—Pardon me, madam— where shall I go to match this satin for my wife? Drawn by R, B. Furrer ~ RBRUUER. Sue—You won't mind if I knit while we dance, will you, George? I want to finish this sweater before you sail. “Why, so did Lee, and he was crazy about the gown the minute he saw it. It is really surprising how we like the same things.” Here, my wife caught sight of me. ‘Why, Lee,” she questioned, “haven’t you got in yet? Dohurry; I know Mrs. Lane must be freezing.” Iclamped my teeth t~ down so hard that I severed a considerable area of my tongue from the mainland. With a blind fury welling up in my soul, I started around to interview those win- dows again. I found them standing pat. Then, I noticed a little window which I had overlooked before. It was about the size of a man’s body, and opened into the pantry. I gave a grunt that was expressive of both joy and general disgust when I discovered that the window was un- fastened. I opened it and wormed my way inside. Once in, I closed the window and locked it securely, and began to mentally rehearse the dressing-down that I would give my wife for neglecting to take the key, and for fastening all doors and windows but one, and— well, for a few other things. I had some feelings that demanded relief. I opened the front door. My wife was looking down the street. “Well?” I queried. “It hasn’t come yet—.” Her warning cry failed to reach me in time. I had uncon- sciously closed the door. We were again locked out! Then the Nile-green gown arrived! “Oh, I'll tell you,” gurgled Mrs. Lane, “you come on over to my house. It’s so nice and cozy, and we will look at your gown there.” My wife beamed her gratitude. “That’s just lovely of you.” She looked back as they tripped down the walk. “And, Lee, dear, call me just as soon as you get in.” The messenger boy cocked an eye at me. “Boss,” he croaked, “couldn’t I get in a minute to warm? I’m nearly froze.” “Son,” said I, “come on to the back yard with me, and we'll set the coal-shed on fire.” comicbooks.com