Judge, 1918-07-27 · page 15 of 36
Judge — July 27, 1918 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
The page contains two distinct items: **Top illustration:** Titled "Her Contribution to the War," this cartoon satirizes women's wartime efforts. It depicts a woman at her vanity mirror, primping and grooming while a maid serves her. The caption notes she's providing "Powder, Arms and a Little Preserving for the Man at the Front"—a sarcastic jab suggesting that upper-class women's contribution to WWI amounts merely to cosmetics and self-care rather than substantive war work. The side panels show other women, possibly servants or working-class figures, implying a class commentary. **Bottom poem:** "An Ideal Summer Resort" by John Kendrick Bangs is satirical verse mocking expensive vacation destinations. The speaker describes a perfect retreat—until the final stanza reveals the "ideal" place is actually his own city apartment. It mocks summer resorts' excessive costs, social pretension, noisy guests, and hidden charges ("gleaming tips"), suggesting that leisure and relaxation are overpriced luxuries when your own modest flat offers better value and peace.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Draten by R. F. Scuasetsrz Her Contrisution to The War Powper, Arsts ano A Litrre Preservinc rox tHe Man at tHe Front An Ideal Summer Resort By Joun Kenprick Bancs Where no one puts on any side; Where no head-waiter coldly jcers, Or views you with his cynic sneers Because your style of etiquette He never has encountered yet. | ie found a place for Summertide I’ve found a place where no one sits Upon a porch, and rocks, and knits, And pulls your name and fame apart With calm, consummate, cruel, art, And leaves you cold, and stark, and dead, Your reputation but a shred. I’ve found a place where you can lie And gaze off at the summer sky, And blink, and think, and scan the blue, And read a pleasant novel through, Without somebody full of talk Insisting that you take a walk. I’ve found a place where when you rise And think a bath a thing to prize ’Tis possible to get a tub Where you can slosh, and splash, and scrub, Without a charge upon the bill To give your bank-account a chill. I’ve found a place where all the chairs, And all the steps upon the stairs, And all the nooks, and bits of shade, For which you fondly think you’ve paid, Are not filled up with gabbling groups Who split the welkin with their whoops. I’ve found a place where no one grips You in the clutch of gleaming tips; Where Tango is not danced at all, And no one sings, out in the hall— And doesn’t cost a cent at that, My own beloved city flat! comicbooks.com