Judge, 1921-06-18 · page 13 of 36
Judge — June 18, 1921 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Explanation for Modern Readers This is a short story illustration titled "According to His Folly" by J.A. Waldron, with artwork by Lawrence Fellowes. It depicts a plot setup common to early 20th-century fiction and humor magazines. **The Scene:** Burdell, a formerly unsuccessful man from the West who has returned to New York newly wealthy, is walking a Broadway street. He begins following an attractive blonde woman, ostensibly to ask directions to Grand Central Terminal—a transparent pretext. **The Satire:** The joke targets masculine behavior and hypocrisy. The story emphasizes Burdell's efforts to appear respectable (well-dressed, fashionable) while his actual behavior—following and accosting a stranger woman—reveals his true character. The "folly" is his belief that money and appearance make such conduct acceptable. **Social Context:** The piece mocks men who visit cities seeking moral "wickedness" away from hometown scrutiny, presenting Burdell as precisely this type: prosperous but essentially disreputable, attempting sophistication while engaging in crude pursuit.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Goov evextxc, Miss!” we venture. According to His Folly URDELL was f the West. He had not been in New York in years. He had left the city under what censorious persons might call a cloud, but that is another tale. He was not prosperous when he departed, but now he looked like mone in large denominations. and he knew it. The West is a great territory for rehabili- tation. Burdell was dressed so well that one might take him at first glance for a veri- table New Yorker. A closer inspection, however, would suggest that his metro- politan air was superficial. By some trick of chemistry his hair and moustache—the latter adornment having a flowing amplitude long out of fashion in the metropolis—were almost youthful. To synchronize with the hard lines of his face they should have shown something of the gray that appropriately goes with cer- tain years. His hands, perhaps, would By J. A. Watpron EI also have testified to the flight of time if they had been naked. They were slickly gloved. Burdell had a jaunty air, for one of his age, and a persistent smile. But there was in his eyes. He had taken a room at a Broadway hotel, where he had just dined, and was walking t thoroughfare electricity began to give it a brilliance fascinating to strangers. And like so many men from out of town who visit New York for a good time, safe from the suspicious eyes and dispraising minds of neighbors in smaller places, Burdell hac eye for the fair sex as he strolled. Literally he had two eyes for their perusal. Now and then Burdell ogled a passing beauty, but all thus favored seemed to be ina hurry. Finally he saw ahead a woman whose figure was pleasing. She turned into a cross street in the Fifties and proceeded eastward, and he followed. There are al- Bb -LOWS, Illustration by Lawren ways many male strangers in New York that regard the world’s chief city as infi- nitely and endlessly wicked, a condition which few of them make any effort to modify. Burdell finally overtook the woman, and where the light was less penetrating he strode to her side. It was not too dark to hide her pleasing aspect. She was well dressed, and from a fetching litde turban a profusion of blonde hair struggled. “Good evening, Miss!” he ventured. “Can you direct me to the Grand Central Terminal?” “You are quite a distance north and west of the Terminal,” she replied, as she scanned his face carefully under a light they were passing. “You might walk over to Madison Avenue and take a down- town car. It passes the Terminal.” And canned his face again. hank you! You don’t mind my walk- ing over to the Avenue with you, do you? she