Judge, 1919-08-02 · page 5 of 36
Judge — August 2, 1919 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Time to Quit" - Judge Magazine Cartoon This cartoon satirizes verbose writers and speakers who won't stop talking. The illustration shows a couple in the rain consulting a weather bureau while a duck swims nearby—a visual joke about excessive, pointless communication. The accompanying essay by Walt Mason (illustrated by Ralph Barton) complains about people who talk endlessly in crowds, writers who submit overly long articles, and the "weather man" who keeps sending rain reports ad nauseam. Mason argues such figures lack the sense to quit when they should, comparing their behavior to ruining Sunday dinner by talking too long. The satire targets a common early-20th-century frustration: people in positions of authority (journalists, weather forecasters, public speakers) who abuse their platforms through wordiness and repetition rather than concise communication.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“Axo THe Wratner Max, He Hearn, axp His Coxpuct Was Ansurp” Time to Quit By Wat Illustrated b FTEN when I'm in a crowd I rear up and talk aloud, for I've had a silver tongue since the days when I was I possess a wordy flow that rattle Cicero. like other gifted sharks, I would makea few remarks; I would make the welkin dance every time I have the chance. So I swing ajar my face with a Bryan sort of gr: nd I talk and talk and talk, till the hands fall off the clock. When I've talked for half an hour I see people look- ing sour, and I know they're bored and sad, and they’re nervous, tired and mad, and they wish that I might choke in an apoplectic stroke, or be stricken with a fit but I lack the sense to quit. Oh, 1 evermore rejoice in the music of my voice, and when I arise to speak I keep talking for a week. This is why my breast and legs bear the stains of ancient eggs; this is why my Sunday hats have been ruined by dead cats. I might often make a hit if I just knew when to quit, but I drool and drool along till I’ve got myself in wrong, and the people in their ire maul me like a house afire. But I'm not alone, I guess, in the weakness I con- Countless folks are just the same, overplaying young; would So, fess. ut Mason Raven of their the time to stop. Half the articles I read are so long they run to s One starts out with pep and snap, and I say, i writer chap has a punch in either mitt,”—but he knows not when to quit. When he’s said his little say, and should put his pen away, he keeps up a lagging pace, filling up a lot of space with the things he’s said before, till his dawdling makes me sore. Oh, he started good and strong. but he made his tale so long that the reader’s bored and blue ere the string of words is through. And the weather man prone to make human beings groan. Just last week he sent a rain which re- freshed the baking plain. And the people in our town watched the water coming down, and they said, “It is the stuff we have prayed for long enough. It will make the parsnips thrive, it will keep the beans alive.” And the weather man, he heard, and his conduct was absurd; for he kept on sending rain till he gave us all a pain. Day and night he sent the juice, sent {t pouring like the deuce, till we had to call for boats when we went to feed our goats, and the countryside was owned, lakes and rivers all around. Everywhere and all the time we be crime. Barton is Id this human comicbooks.com