Judge, 1924-08-09 · page 28 of 36
Judge — August 9, 1924 — page 28: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous story about a man trying to tell a joke at a dance while repeatedly interrupted by Horace's aunt, who demands clarification. The joke itself—about introducing a girl as the "daughter of the Countess of Ayre," who then reveals her father is merely the County Surveyor—relies on a class-based punchline: the humor lies in the deflating revelation that despite aristocratic maternal connections, the girl's father holds only a modest surveying position. The satire targets multiple things: the narrator's poor storytelling, the aunt's pedantic questioning, and implicitly, the English class system's pretensions. The secondary cartoon below mocks husbands buying oversized car doors for their wives' driving, a jab at women drivers. Both pieces use exasperation and social awkwardness for comedic effect, typical of Judge's early-20th-century approach to domestic and class humor.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Sunda School.—Passing Show (London) Just a Joke (Continued from page 25) The hall was empty except for Horace’s aunt and myself. “Go on!” said Horace’s aunt. Well, the friend noticed he wasn’t dancing and asked him why, and the man said there wasn’t a girl in the room he'd be scen dancing with.” “He'd what? “Be seen dancing with.” “He'd what?” “Be seen dancing with.” “Why not?” “T don’t know.” “Wha “T don't know.” s that the end?” said Horace’s aunt. ‘No, that’s not the end.” “Go on, then. I must say, I think the standard of humor has deteriorated since I was young.” I could see my partner standing alone, looking about her stonily. She was care- fully not looking in my direction. I didn’t like her expression at all. I rose desperately. “Tm afraid I must go,” I yelled into the loudspeaker. “I have an engage- ment.” “Do sit still,” said Horace’s aunt. “Don’t keep jumping up and down all the time. What did you say?” Isat down. I need hardly say, if you've ever been fixed by Horace’s aunt’s glassy eye, you'll understand, and if you haven't, it’s no use trying to explain. “What did you say?” repeated Horace’s aunt. “T said I was engaged for this dance.” “What?” “Engaged.” “Which of them was engaged? You don’t tell it at all clearly. I wish I'd asked Horace. Which was engaged—the friend or the other?” either.” “What?” I mopped my brow. “Neither.” “Why did you say they were?” I tried to loosen my collar with one hand. It seemed too tight for the efforts the loudspeaker demanded of it. I went on wretchedly. “The man said he'd introduce his friend to a girl who was the daughter of the Countess of Ayre, so he did, and he danced with her and said, ‘How is your mother, the Countess of Ayre?’ ” I'd been yelling at the top of my voice and I paused for breath. “It seems quite a natural question to ask,” said Horace’s aunt. “I don’t see any joke in it. Is that the end?” ie second dance was beginning now I watched it wistfully. felt myself looking wan and ps “No,” L yelled. hat’s not the end.” “Well, goon. You're so slow with it.” * T shouted viciously, “that father who was the County “She saic it was het Surveyor. “What? “She said that it was her father who was the County Surveyor. That's the end.” “And do you mean to say that you and Horace consider it a joke for a girl to say that her father’s the Countess of Ayre? I think it’s merely silly. He might be the Count of Ayre. You said that her mother was the Countess of Ayre.” I didn’t.” I shouted. “I said that she was the daughter of the Countess of Ayre. I meant the County Surveyor.” “John,” she said quite kindly aren't feeling ill, are you I mopped my head again. My coller was quite limp, though it was not a hot evening. “The joke is,” I shouted, feeling as if I were in a nightmare and must wake up soon. They had reached the third dance, and my partner was simply glaring at me from the library. “The joke is that her mother wasn’t the Countess of Ayre.” Wire—What's the idea, George? Huspanp—Well, m’dear, as you propose to drive the new car, I thought it better to have the doors made six feet wider. —London Mail. comicbooks.com