Judge, 1930-03-29 · page 7 of 36
Judge — March 29, 1930 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Judge Magazine Page This page contains two unrelated pieces: a top cartoon titled "Judge" showing a man being kicked out by a farmer (with caption about being a "lazy, good-for-nothing butler"), and below it a humorous story "The Spirit of Spring" by Arthur L. Lippmanns. The main story concerns Wellington Smith, who discovers an egg labeled "Polly Pierson, Cranberry Farms, Dulcesis, New Jersey." Through the narrative, we learn Polly is a prize-winning hen whose owner has autographed her eggs. The accompanying cartoon shows a coffee shop scene where a gentleman has forgotten his money—the humor deriving from everyday domestic or commercial mishaps rather than political satire. This appears to be general-interest humor content typical of early-20th-century Judge magazine.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
JUDGE Master—You're a lazy, good-for-nothing butler, and I give you two weeks’ notice. The Spirit of Spring ELLINGTON SNaitit was about to consign the egg to its three-min- ute immersion in hot water when he noticed a name and address scribbled on the under side: “Polly Pierson, Cranberry Farms, Dulexis, New Jer- se Wellington had heard of such things. Weren't hand-laundry Cin- derellas frequently winning million- aire scions in this w Didn't poor but proud factory girls often marry into Who’s Who by just such clever devices? Wellington Snaith grew just a little less bored as he stepped out of his kitchenette into the day- bedded living-room of his apartment. Romance, up to now a stranger to Mr. Snaith, raced that young gentle- man’s pulse. Besides, it was a dan- gerous day in early Spring, and even a bored bond statistician seemed to hear elfin notes above the cacophony of the trafic. “Polly,” muttered Mr. Snaith to himself, “name of a rosy- cheeked lass. Name of a Gretchen of Polly? Polly? Why Three hours later a shining road- ster stopped at the entrance to Cran- berry Farms. “Nice da aged gentlema white fence. said a genial, middle- who was mending the “Sure is,” answered Wellington. “Do the Piersons live here?” “I'm n Pierson,” welcomed the farmer. “What can I do for you, my friend Snaith, who had never batted an eyelid before the lorgnettes of Park Avenue, blushed like an adolescent lass before Buddy Rogers. “I'd like to sce Miss Polly, please,” he stam- mered, “You would, ch? grinned Mr. Pierson, “What's your name, young “Wellington Snaith,”” said the bond n in search of romance. Squire Pierson whistled shrilly in the direction of the house. A baritone dog and a cackling hen answered him. Once again the farmer whistled and a bustling busybody of a hen hastened from behind the house. “Mr. Snaith,” said the farmer, “I want you to mect Polly Pierson, my ize-winning hen. I'm so proud of little Jady’s output that I person- : ph her name on every one of her eggs.” —Anrice L, Lippmann eciypbait. 23, “Horace, dear—this gentleman forgot his money.” 6 comicbooks.com