Judge, 1921-04-30 · page 5 of 32
Judge — April 30, 1921 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of "Back to the Dear Old Farm" Page The main cartoon at the top depicts a comedic domestic scene: a man in a suit appears to be dragging a reluctant woman (wearing a large hat and light dress) toward farm equipment. The caption references "There's another thing we need, Henry," suggesting marital negotiation about returning to rural life. The accompanying story by Ruth Birdsall humorously describes a couple who wintered in the city but are now returning to farm life. The narrative contrasts urban conveniences (gas stoves, modern appliances) with rural hardships—broken equipment, lack of heating, and missing supplies—particularly focusing on the wife's dismay at losing comfortable city amenities. The satire targets post-World War I attitudes about rural versus urban living and the tensions between modern comfort and agricultural necessity.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Draven by V syemnn pf AE Tue Last staaw Three's Back to E had been wintering in town, in the big city where ice and snow are not encumbrances but merely Nature-given toys for street shovelers to juggle. Now spring had arrived and with it had come a virulent attack of back-to-the-farm fever. Mereilessly it swept through the whole family, but he who was hardest hit was the man-oi-the-house. His case was serious, almost dangerous, demanding immediate treatment He had been developing symptoms for two or three weeks, but on the first really warmish, June-like day he broke out all over. The fever couldn't be checked. He swallowed his breakfast at one fell swoop; he fidgeted and sat on the edge of his chair; he consulted his watch every thirty seconds—and finally announce Such a nice day I'd If you have “I'm going to drive out to the farm today. like to look it over. Don’t you think we ought to? any trinkets you'd like to get rid of down here we can take a few up with us. That'll be so much toward moving back.” I dashed to make myself ready for the trip. In the meantime the man-of-the-house exercised his masculine intelligence by collecting, in the front hall, a few of those “litle trinkets” which were to comprise our first load of the season. As [ hurried and buttoned and hooked, a volley of questions was hurled at me—first from the kitchen, then from the dining: room, the living-room, any room in which his eagle eye fell upon some object which might be transferred to the country. “You won't need this down here any more, will you?” he shouted. “What is it?” I hurried to join him. Norns THING Wr the Dear Old Farm By Rutu Birpsaun “The fireless cooker.” “Why, my dear, we'll have to cook here. can't The gas stove will do for the few days left.” Why, there are three weeks or more yet.” The fireless cooker was already being Of course we ‘ew days? But it was useless. trundled out to the elevator, “Need this?” shouted the farm-mad husband. Just in time I flew out and saved my double-boiler. Imagine three wecks without a double-boiler! As I sped along the hall, I beheld all the coats and sweaters of the family being chucked into an empty clothes basket winter coats, spring coats, summer coats, all kinds, regardless of how often they might be needed. Breathlessly, I rescued a coat apiece for each of us. With a hectic grasp, I clutched my new spring hat and pinned it on my head to save it. The spring fever had certainly effected our man-of-the-house. It had turned his head. He was about to purloin a suit-case of laundry, a few blankets and quilts and the steamer trunk in which we of the winter apartment keep our bed linen. Wildly I grabbed them “My dear, we must sleep! You can’t take the quilts and blankets and sheets. We can’t freeze, you know. “Well, what may I take? The clock, the phonograph the a : You have more than a load now,” I counseled ler his breath he was hum 1a spring and agility quite Take me. He smilingly disregarded me. ming a gay little tune; his gait h: comicbooks.com