Judge, 1927-02-19 · page 6 of 36
Judge — February 19, 1927 — page 6: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Love's Whirl" - Judge Magazine Story This appears to be the opening page of a serialized romantic fiction story rather than a political cartoon. The headline identifies it as "A True Blue Confession Story," suggesting it's part of Judge's regular fiction content. The narrative concerns a young, unsophisticated woman who arrives in New York and takes a room at an inexpensive hotel. She befriends two other female residents—Sallie Belmont (blonde) and Elaine (a brunette with a French accent). The story suggests romantic complications, with a man named Ned expressing his affection. Rather than satire, this represents Judge's broader editorial content blending humor, advice, and serialized stories for readers, characteristic of early 20th-century American magazines targeting middle-class audiences.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
JUDGE He loved her madly, like red-hot coals. She was daffy about him. Should she con- ceal her past? Read this smashing indictment of the trafic in spoiled canned foods, the first of a series of powerful articles on this im- portant question. “I love you, gal,” said Ned hoarsely. VeSWHI came to New York a simple little unsophisticated I girl. It took me about three days to get the tar and feathers off, and girls, I wouldn't wish my worst enemy anything like that experience. All those horrid men riding me out of town on a rail—ugh, I can still see the whole thing! But to get on with my story. I began to cast around for work. What could I do, I asked myself? I could play the bass viol and I knew a little about musical sawing. I registered at a small inexpensive hotel called the Plaza, but after two weeks I began getting dirty looks from a man with a badge, who used to hang around the desk, so I selected a cheap boarding-house near a traffic tower. I love traffic towers and I used to lean out the window and watch Flaherty switch the traffic every afternoon. But finally the thought of money began to worry me. I had changed from Post Toasties to Pep and back to Post Toasties again, I ate so many bran flakes that I used to wake up nights picking them off the coverlet. One night I was sitting in my room spelling out a newspaper when there came a knock on the door. “Come in,” I said in Polish. Two girls whom I recognized as living in the next room walked in. “I'm Sallye Belmont,” said one, a pretty little blonde with a strawberry mark between her shoulder- blades, “and this is Elaine Finklefoot,” pointing to the other like she was a French pastry. Elaine was a snappy brunette with a bun on, “Say, don’t you ever get lonely hanging around here all day?” asked Elaine. “No,” I replied, “for after all I am a home girl and as long as I have a piece of wood to whittle, I'm — comicbooks.com ascena