Judge, 1938-02 · page 13 of 52
Judge — February 1938 — page 13: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Gloomy Saturday - Judge Magazine Content Analysis This page contains two distinct pieces: **The Cartoon (top):** A simple comic about fathers and sons. Two boys discuss their Saturday outing with their dads. The humor centers on the generational gap: fathers try to be "pals" by taking sons on activities, but these outings are exhausting and potentially dangerous—the boys worry about their fathers getting hurt or making fools of themselves (falling, diving poorly, attempting outdated ski tricks). The joke's irony: the boys must pretend they had fun to avoid repeat outings, managing their mothers' expectations. **The Story (bottom):** A lengthy satirical piece titled "I Was Forward with Miss Smithers, Sir." This appears to be mock-nostalgic fiction parodying British upper-class romance narratives. It exaggerates aristocratic pretension through absurd details (rambling estates with "mortgages," ancestors bringing Indians home who build wigwams with Oriental rugs, a dog helpfully retrieving carpet slippers). The abandoned-girlfriend ending undermines the romantic tone, suggesting the narrator's self-absorbed rambling about his family's exploits bored her away—satire of self-important upper-class storytelling.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
GLOOMY SATURDAY “l SAW you heading for the country with your Dad this morning.” “Yes. This was his day for being a pal to me.” “How was it? Pretty bad? You look all worn out.” “Could have been worse. He's pret- ty sore and stiff but he didn’t get hurt. I'm always afraid he'll fall over a log and break something or cut himself with my Scout axe, I was scared all day.” “That's better than when they show you how to dive. Now my Dad...” “I heard about that. Knocked him- self senseless. You had to tow him in.” “Well, it's soon over. They wear themselves out in a little while.” “I know. Now if I can just make Mother believe I had a good time...” “That's the hard part. If you overdo that act your Mother may make you go with him again next Saturday.” “I can stand that. What I'm afraid of is that he’s coming down to the slide this week and show us how he used to ski.” —McCreaby Huston. me, leaving Bruno to guard her cycle with his life. We ram- bled through the woods, making the welkin ring with our gay young laughter. Ah, how young we were and how the hot and jumpy blood of youth raced through our veins! To be near her was to feel twinge upon twinge of nostal. gia, a yearning for the old castle at home. It was a great rambling place with spacious lawns, trees, and mortgages. “Silver Oaks," we called it. There were plenty of dogs and horses around the place, for we Thistlewaites were born in the saddle and cut our teeth on our dogs. We sat down to rest against a huge rock and I amused her with legends of our family. I told her of my school days at Eton and Oxford, and how “Old Cats-Meat” Tillingham and I had once put cement in the dean's cereal. I recounted the story of my great-great-grandfather, Cap- tain Horatio Thistlewaite, who sailed up the St. Lawrence in 1668 with his little fleet of three ships, the Pinta, the Half-Pinta, and his flagship, the Quarta, the besta fleeta afloata. How my great-great-grandmother must have fumed when the old voyager brought several Indians home with him who used to build great roaring fires in the corner of the parlor and make wigwams out of the Oriental rugs. I rambled on and on in the lore of the Thistlewaites, until suddenly I noticed the sun sinking in the west, and I looked around for my beauty. She was gone. All that was left of her- was a faint perfume of heather and a slight indentation in the rock against which she had lain her head. I whistled loudly for Bruno and before long he came bounding over the hill. The faithful animal had brought my carpet slippers and hearth with him. “Women to me, old chap,” I said, filling my pipe and placing it between firm, white teeth, ‘are a closed book.” And I patted Bruno's head while he helped me on with my slippers. —Witt KENNEDY. “I WAS FORWARD WITH Miss SMITHERS, SIR.” February, 1958 comicbooks.com