Judge, 1935-08 · page 12 of 36
Judge — August 1935 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Overheard in a Trout Stream" - Explanation for Modern Readers This humorous story by Jack Cluett depicts an experienced fisherman (Herm) patiently instructing an incompetent novice on fly-fishing technique. The novice repeatedly makes amateur mistakes: using a bath sponge instead of a proper lure, thrashing about loudly, standing in the water splashing, tangling his line in tree branches and the car seat, and confusing a hair ribbon with fishing equipment. The satire targets the arrogance of rank beginners who ignore expert advice. The exasperated instructor's running commentary—delivered in working-class dialect—humorously catalogs each blunder while the novice insists on trying obviously wrong approaches (like using worms instead of flies). The accompanying cartoons and brief "Definition" section offer unrelated social commentary on radio amateur hours and other contemporary topics, typical of Judge magazine's mixed-content format.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Judge Overheard in a Trout Stream By Jack Cluett ZY, Herm. What cha think yer doin’—whippin’ a horse? This is supposed ta be a trout stream, in case yer innerestet. The idea’s ta fool the trout—not me. He supposed ta think that thing on the end of yer line 's a live mought miller, not a bath sponge .. . Aw right, then—stop tryin’ ta whip the fish ta death an’ take them decd leaves an’ stuff off of yer hook. 'Course, if ya wanna warn every fish in the stream yer here ya can trow stones at ’em. “An! stop sloshin’ around in them boots, will ya, Herm. Trout's got ears, know... ver min’ the mosquitoes. Ya gotta expec’ mosquit Here, smear some of this, now, goop on yer face. An’ lookit, Herm, the fish ain’ up in the top of them bushes in back of ya, see. The fish is supposed ta be out in under them rocks like. "Course, if yer fishin’ fer twigs thas your business. Geez, yer worst than an ol’ woman with a buncha yarn... Aw right, now, don’ get excitet. Reel in slow an’ holt yer pole up... Lower! Yer not tryin’ ta open a transom, ya know. Now, where’s yer landing net at? . . . Oh, back in the car, eh. I se the trout ta jump outta the stream inna the back seat of the car. “Thas great, Herm. Thas a nice 2 poun’ stump. Y “T built that birdhouse but ’'m a better have that mounnet an’ hang it up in yer liberry era dental cripple just the same.” Well, Geez, then, put onna coachman. Maybe you'll have better luck an’ catch the roots an’ all next time. On'y, lookit, the seat of me pants ain’ a fish, see. Hey, Herm—yer tyin’ a fly, not a hair ribbon, an’ take the miller off first... Not the reel, stoopit —the miller... The mought miller. “Oh, so ya think they'd like worms better, I bring you out fly fishin’ an’, hecause they don't jump in yer basket, think it’s worms they Who ain’ doin’ so gi Say, lissen —if you'd on’y be quiet an’ stop talkin’ fer a second I'd have me a bushel basket full.” Definition N amateur hour is a broadcast in which a coffee company sponsors a master of ceremonies to ring a gong on a bunch of people whose friends told them they should be on the radio, all for the benefit of the telephone com- pany. We don't know about hitching your wagon to a star, but plenty of motorists seem to be trying to hang their cars on one. Now that they’re calling themselves Grassroot Republicans, it remains to be seen if the party is going to seed. A few years ago it was the radio that a . . . ° got poor reception. Now it’s the fellow Here’s that South Side gang, Sergeant. who comes around for the payments. 10 comicbooks.com