Judge, 1923-01-20 · page 7 of 36
Judge — January 20, 1923 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of "Life's Little Tragedies" by Walt Mason This is a humorous illustrated essay, not a political cartoon. The small cartoon at top shows a "Drummer" (traveling salesman) making a joke about oversized feet—Bill Jones supposedly has to remove his trousers over his head because his feet are so large. Mason's main text is autobiographical comedy about life's frustrations. He describes his attempts to improve his finances by selling poetry, only to be repeatedly accosted by creditors—his landlord demanding payment for drinks, then a neighbor (Granther Beeswax) claiming his cow ate crops. The satire targets ordinary working-class struggles during Prohibition ("denatured Volstead gin"—illegal alcohol named after the Prohibition law). The joke is how optimism and good mood are constantly punctured by mundane financial obligations and the petty complaints of creditors and neighbors. It's gentle social humor about the universal experience of debt and small-town life's relentless demands.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Drummer—Are there any feet in town larger than yours? Bill Jones has to pull his trousers off over his head.” “Only one pair. Life’s Little Tragedies sometimes leave my humble home and go downtown to sell a pome, that I may buy some wholesome plants, with which to feed my maiden aunts. And all the world seems good to me; the sunshine falls on all I see, the birds are singing here and there, and like is the air. n impelled to dance a jig, life seems d fine, and big. I am in- spired to dance and sing, for Iam happy asaking. But as I s the Blue Boar Inn, which sells denatured Volstead gin, the landlord hails me from _ his door: “When will you pay your ancient sco You've drunk a tun of currant wine, st lemonade and turpentine. Oh, here you've spent a hundred nights with other crass, besotted wights, and smoked your by Walt Mason pipe and told your tale, and soaked your whiskers in my ale, and as you finished y, ‘Now, prithee, charge it, Now you must pay me 3 . or you will meet a lot of woe. And lawyers stern and _ bailiff: bold your goods and chattels soon will hold.” Oh, what resiliency of soul can stand this sort of rigmaro! of heart and brain can flourish under s a strain? Thus creditors, in drab array. can drive the sunshine from the day. Th choose a misfit time, and mal their insolence a crime. They don’t approach me when I’m sore thinking I shall smile no more; they until they see me gay, then spring their bills—and spoil a day s sure as I am feeling blithe, the es approach, as with a scythe, and gladness down like grass, and le: me in an evil pass. This morn I ga took the road to try and soak a new-laid ode, and life seemed lovely and serene, a thing of flowers and gasoline. “I thank the gods,” I murmured low, “that I’m still weaving to and fro, that I infest this good old earth, with all its happiness and mirth. It must be sad, on such a day, to be dece a away; I’m thank- ful that I still survive, vith ‘all my legs and arms aliv Then Granther Beeswax came to me, and in a moment spoiled my glee. “You owe me thirty iron men; your old pink cow got loose again, when dark- ness veiled the windsv-ept lea, and ate the