Judge, 1938-02 · page 12 of 52
Judge — February 1938 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Judge Magazine Page Analysis This page contains three distinct pieces of humor: **"Once a Thistlewaite"** is a satirical short story mocking pretentious British aristocracy and affected English mannerisms. The narrator, Reginald Thistlewaite, embodies exaggerated upper-class affectation—carrying Aeschylus, naming his dog after a colonel, and absurdly displaying a family "tree" (literally ham and swiss rampant) tattooed on his chest. The story ridicules both pompous British characters and Americans who admire them. **"Prejudice"** is a brief poem criticizing elderly spinsters who scold small dogs (poodles, Pekingeses) on streets—satirizing busybody moralism and fussy old women. **"Trolley-Car"** is a humorous verse by Robert Lax treating the electric trolley-car as a bizarre animal, poking fun at this then-new technology with absurdist descriptions of its mechanical properties. The bottom cartoon shows a mother confronting a child about skipping Parent-Teacher Association meetings—satirizing mothers' involvement in school administration and social pressure regarding parental participation.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“HEIGH-O.SILVER!” PREJUDICE Most depressing are those neat Rancid spinsters that you meet Scolding poodles on the street. Nothing makes me go to pieces Like old ladies whose disease is Reprimanding Pekineses. TROLLEY-CAR Of beasts, by far The strangest are That creature called the trolley-car. He doth not cry, he doth not laff; His fore is like unto his aff; He liveth on a beaten paff. In passing parks He barks at larks And as he speedeth, spitteth sparks. —RoserT Lax. ONCE A THISTLEWAITE T WAS a crispy day in the late autumn with the sky one smear of blue that I stuffed a volume of Aeschylus in my pocket and whistled to Bruno to accompany me on a stroll through the park. Bruno, good old fellow, was given to me by an old friend of my father’s, Colonel Willoughby Rotherhite, who raised him from a puppy in his famous kennels at Leaning-on-the. Bannister. 1 taught him many tricks, although at first I thought him a little stupid. One day I said to him, “Bruno, run up to the north cham. ber and fetch my walking stick, you know, the light one | carry on Sunday mornings.” Instead the simple beast brought me the heavy black-thorn which I always carry on Tuesdays. However, it was when Bruno and I stopped for a rest in the park that I saw her. I knew her for an English girl the moment I laid eyes on her. She was cycling down the path, holding a jar of Cross and Blackwell's marmalade in one hand and a Yarmouth bloater in the other. As she stopped her cycle and sat down on the bench op- posite me I noticed she was completely outfitted in old tweeds, from the tips of her long tweed shoes to the tweed cigarette in her lips. “Allow me to present myself,” I said, “I am Reginald Thistlewaite, late of Merrie England, and even more lately of the bench across from you.” Her smile revealed a snowy expanse of shining teeth and her eyelids fluttered like a bird bird. “To think I should meet a scion of Sir Reginald’s in this bloody country,” she said. “Are you really a Thistlewaite?” In a trice I had peeled off my Heatherspun topcoat, my waistcoat and shirt, and there tattooed on my chest was our family tree—a ham and swiss rampant on a field of lettuce. I suggested a turn through the park and she accompanied “WHAT'S THIS | HEAR ABOUT YOU PLAYIN’ HOOKEY FROM THE PARENTS’ TEACHER AssociATION, Mom?” The Judge comicbooks.com