Judge, 1924-10-04 · page 28 of 37
Judge — October 4, 1924 — page 28: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from *Judge* magazine contains a humorous domestic story illustrated with two cartoons about a husband reluctant to bird-watch with his wife Angela. **The Setup:** The narrator dismisses bird-watching as trivial compared to "important" work like making money and paying bills. Angela insists on educating him about nature. **The Satire:** The joke mocks masculine priorities and marital dynamics of the era. The husband's dismissive attitude toward his wife's interests—and his sarcastic deflections about his own golf and income taxes—represents the typical husband who considers his pursuits important while belittling his wife's hobbies. **The Punchline:** While dutifully bird-watching and whistling to attract a phoebe, a friend (Bill Cornwall) discovers him alone, whistling repeatedly into the bushes—creating an absurd, compromising scene the friend cannot understand. **The Cartoons:** The top panels show domestic incompetence: Smith struggles with home repairs while Angela forces him outdoors; the bungalow is literally upside-down to accommodate golf-playing. The satire ultimately ridicules both the husband's resistance to his wife's interests and the embarrassing situations his compliance creates.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Smith found it difficult to paper the ceiling— Cuckoo! AS FAR as Nature goes, I have always been able to take it or leave it alone. There is no one who is quicker than I to give a Blackburnian warbler its due; but when it comes to tracking it afield with a bird book in one hand and a camera in the other, I told Angela—but there is no telling Angela. “It's time you got acquainted with some of our feathered friends,” said Angela, as she slung a pair of field glasses carelessly over a shoulder (mine). “I'll bet you couldn't distinguish a robin from a dog-tooth violet.” “Oh, I couldn't, eh? And I bet I'ma dub at golf, too.” “You wouldn't recognize a yellow- bellied sapsucker if it flew in your face,” she continued, as she led the way down the country lane. “I suppose I can’t even fill out an in- come tax blank.” “Business, business, business,” de- spaired Angela. “Just because I go puttering around doing stupid things like making money and paying bills, instead of spying in on the private life of a humming-bird—” “Money, bills!” sighed Angela. “Don't you realize there are some things which are higher than your income?” “Very clearly,” I announced. “Your spring coat, for instance.” “If you're going to bring up that coat—" said Angela; and we trudged on awhile in silence. “Pewee!” cried Angela. ANDERSON eS “That's not very kind, I must say.” “What isn't?” “To call your husband a pewee. And I'm making my own coat go a second season.” “ be quiet!” ordered Angela, thumbing her bird book excitedly. ‘‘ ‘In life the pewee can best be distinguished from the larger pheebe, with which it is often confounded, by its sad, plaintive whistle: pe-ah-wee, or pee-wee.’” “Can it?” I sulked. “Would you call that note a sad, plain- tive pee-wee?” she inquired. “Well, of course, if I can’t tell the difference between a dog-tooth violet and —and yellow-bellied sapsucker,” I began elaborately, “I could hardly be expected to—” SUNDAY SERVICE WHILE YOU PLAY Jones is a man of his word. He promised his wife faithfully that never again would he allow his golf to keep him from Sunday service. 26 So he turned the bungalow upside down to make things easier. “Or is it a phoebe?” she interrupted. “Listen.” I shook my head. “A moment ago, I thought I could make out an automobile in the distance,” I said. “But now these confounded birds are making so much noise I can’t hear a sound.” “Here we a Angela read. “ ‘Phcebe’s note: A jerky, emphatic pharbe, accent on the second syllable, and_ still further accented by a vigorous flirt of the tail.’ Can you whistle like a phceebe?” “Nonsense,” I blurted. “Now, Angela, I “Try it.” said Angela. I made a little whistle. “It’s so silly!” I said. 0 on, go on,” pled Angela. I whistled again. A moment later the bird replied with a similar whistle from the other side of the bushes. “Fine,” said Angela. “Hold my hat.” “Where are you going?” “Over to the other side of those bushes, to see if it flirts its tail. You stay here very quietly and whistle now and then to keep it interested.” “A fine occupation, decoying a phoebe!” I growled. “Hurry, whistle.” crawled out of sight. “Phoe-be!” I whistled. I listened. Presently the bird replied in kind. We had it back and forth that way for several minutes. “What the devil are you doing?” said a voice behind me. I turned to face Bill Cornwall. said Angela, and comicbooks.com