Judge, 1918-08-03 · page 5 of 32
Judge — August 3, 1918 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis This page features "A Midsummer Night's Steam," a short story by Benjamin De Casseres illustrated by Albert Hencke. The comic strip at top shows a man on what appears to be a Staten Island ferry recognizing someone from a faded print he'd seen years before in a Sussex tavern. The satire targets New York's transit problems and urban mysteries. The narrator humorously describes solving urban riddles—like why ferries exist and what "What-It's-All-About" means—suggesting the absurdity of city life. The reference to "Magic Land," "Invisible Domains," and the subway suggests commentary on New York's confusing, maze-like transportation system and the strange encounters one has there. The overall tone mocks both urban pretension and the inexplicable nature of modern city living.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“THE WN. JUDGE t Pounded 1881 ATION’S PERPETUAL SMILEAGE “BOOK” “T Recocn A Midsummer By BEenyJamin Rosin Goopretiow, Just as I Hap Se =n Him in a Fapepo Print, Years Berore” Night’s Steam De Casseres Illustrated by Aubert Hencke HENEVER you are “up against it,” if you are in New York, take a boat for Staten Island. Whenever you have a problem to solve, or a debt that you can’t pay or a next chapter to work out in that novel that is going to make Rex Beach look like a penny stamp, get on one of those boats. In summer time especially it is the Trip Magnificent. You can go ‘round and ’round for a little more than nothing. And presto! everything begins to unravel. There are gnomes on those boats. They may come out of the water. Maybe they are born of the air. Or of those shores that glitter at you like a vast being, a Sphinx with a thousand-thousand eyes. Anyhow, I met my gnome on my fourth trip around on a glorious summer night not many days ago. I sat on one of the seats surrounding the cabin rubbing the back of my ear—like Aladdin rubbing his lamp. My mind was harping on the Destiny-of-Things-in-General. Why do I rub the back of my ear when trying to dope out What-It’s-All-About? I do not know; but since that night I have discovered in an old tome that the bone in back of the ear is really the subway to the Invisible Domains. While I was rubbing, gently rubbing at this cham- ber-door to Magic Land, some one tapped me lightly on the knee (it was my tenth rub, I think). I looked around negligently, expecting a “touch” and I beheld the queerest-looking person I have laid my eyes on this side of Washington. A rather fat boy, dressed in a blue serge, a stand-up collar, flaring red tie, from which shone a green-stone pin; patent leather boots, and in his hand a little walk- ing stick—something like a wand—gold-tipped with a ferrule of opal. His hat was grotesque, for it was an old style low plug, such as some equestriennes affect. I recognized Robin Goodfellow—just as I had seen him in a faded print, years before in an old Sussex tavern.. This was, indeed, a midsummer’s night steam! “You rubbed your car ten times, and here I am. It’s my cue. You are worried over Things-in-Gencral, hey? Well, Iam not, and I know a deal more than you. comicbooks.com