Judge, 1924-03-29 · page 10 of 36
Judge — March 29, 1924 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Explanation for Modern Readers This page from *Judge* magazine contains several brief humor pieces typical of early 20th-century American satire: **"A Leap Year Story"** (left column): A comedic tale exploiting the tradition of Leap Year, when women could propose to men. A chronic liar promises a woman he'll stop lying, then when she proposes by asking him to name his wedding gift, he's trapped—the only honest answer is "You," committing him to marriage. **"The Reason"** (right column): Two romantic vignettes interrupted by domestic reality. A man makes tender advances to a woman on a golf course; simultaneously, an aspiring author tears up his work, mourning his lost artistic ambitions—until his wife reminds him the baby needs shoes, forcing him back to practical work. **Brief jokes** scattered throughout mock contemporary targets: flapper fashions, modern astronomy knowledge, and (in the final item) a racist caricature depicting a Black chauffeur and his bride, playing on stereotyped dialect humor common to the era. The satire reflects early-1900s concerns about changing gender roles, artistic pretension versus economic reality, and fashionable youth culture.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
A Leap Year Story Nee I was an excellent liar, I could lie as easy as anybody. My lies were always plausible, quick, ly and well seived, I was content and single. But all this is changed now. I met a girl who took what she said was only a friendly interest in me. She asked me to give up lying. She pleaded with me so prettily and with such evident desire to make me a perfect expounder of truth that I promised her I would lie no more. Having given my promise I kept it. One day the girl came to me with down- cast face, she glanced at me shyly from beneath half-closed lids. A little blush played about her dimpled cheeks. to be married. She told me she was going T extended my hand. I congratu- lated her, wholeheartedly and truth- fully I was glad. I told her I would give her anything she wanted for a wedding gift, “You have only to speak,” T said, “and it is yours!” “Remember,” she said, “nothing but the truth!” “The truth always,” I replied. “Name the wedding gift and it is yours!” Shyly her little hand sought mine. “You!” she whispered. Confound it! I never thought of that! But what could I do? W. M. Saxrorp. Musica Comepy She—Are they putting that poor man out for laughing? He—No. for him to find out what he was laugh- ing at. The manager has sent Mr. Newpapa—I never kiss the baby when the nurse is around. Mr. Gayboy—Well, after taking a good look at that peacherino of a nurse I don’t blame you. * The astronomy of the modern flappers seems to be limited to a desire to dress as near like Venus as possible,and to avoid Ma’s when they come in late! The woman who followed the fashions doesn’t show her years until after she has shown everything else. sell life is! these were peppermint candy! Disillusioned Infant—Gee, what a Here I'd always thought Tue Reason Bu Ketcuem steered his com- panion through the crowded dance floor out onto the green terraces in front of the club. “You are the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my life,” he began tenderly Doris Chapman examined him carefully from head to foot. He wasn’t hard to look upon. His hair was crisp and brown, and his dinner coat fitted to a precision, The be- ginnings of a mustache were visible even in the dim light from the door- way. “Let's walk,” she suggested. They started slowly across the golf course. + * # & & & # The author slowly tore the paper in two. “Trash,” he murmured, “nothing but trash. I can't write more of such stuff. I want to ci thing that will live fore terpiece that will be handed down through the ages. Ah, in my veins burns the fire of genius!) Why should I, favored by the gods, waste my time upon mere nothings He fell to brooding. A door opened softly behind him. “Gerald, baby needs shoes!” With a sigh the author picked up his pen. Bob Ketchem steered his com- panion through the crowded dance floor, ete. Horton Jacques. Listlessly he bega ArT [vesnen of the pictures,” When I spied a lovely blond Glancing at the paintings Of which Lam most fond. “You are interested Inart,” I sighed, “my dear?” she answered sweetly, “I'm waiting for him here.” EvcGar Dante Kramer. sae A well-groomed young negro stood before the city clerk and requested a marriage certificate. “What occupation?” demanded the official. “Ts a chauffeur.” “And that of the bride?” At this a dusky young lady stepped forward and proudly stood at the young chauffeur's side. ‘ dat question,” s can put me down as his chiffonier.” comicbooks.com