Life, 1883-07-05 · page 11 of 16
Life — July 5, 1883 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "District Telegraph Boy" Satire This is a satirical "Popular Science Catechism"—a mock-educational dialogue mocking the District Telegraph messenger service, a real Victorian-era delivery system where boys delivered urgent messages. The satire exposes the boy's laziness and dishonesty: summoned for an emergency (a dying man needing a doctor), he dawdles window-shopping for hours instead of hurrying. The joke escalates absurdly—he charges excessive fees (15 cents arrival, 30 cents per hour "looking in windows," etc.) totaling $1.20, keeps 36 cents profit, and invests it in real estate and cigarettes rather than helping his employer. The final punchline mocks the service's unreliability: the only way to guarantee prompt delivery is to take the message yourself. This satirizes both the messenger service's inefficiency and broader Victorian anxieties about untrustworthy working-class labor—the boy is portrayed as dishonest and negligent despite earning decent money.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
——SS——S>— ‘LIFE - 9 POPULAR SCIENCE CATECHISM. Lesson V.—District Telegraph Boy. HAT is this? This is a District Telegraph boy. But what is a Dis- trict Telegraph boy? He is a boy who ap- pears at your door twenty minutes after you fool with a little box which says “ br- r-r-r-r,” Oh! he is the boy who takes messages? Yes, darling; he takes messages. But this boy has no message? Yes, he has, dear. What is it? It is an urgent ap- peal for the doctor to come right away toa man who is dying. My ! but why doesn't the boy hurry? He is hurrying. To do what? To count the marbles exhibited in that window. And when he has counted the marbles, will he go? Certainly, dear. Where? To the next window. And then? To the next. Gracious! how far ts it to the doctor's? Seven blocks. How long will it take the boy to get there? About three hours. Goodness! the poor sick man may dit before the doctor comes... He probably will, sweet. Well, is not the poor District Messenger bay to blame? No, precious, Who are to blame, then? The sick man’s friends, How? They should have gone for the doctor themselves. And what will they do now? They will go for the boy. And what will he do? He will say he was “ detained.” And what is that? A lie. My! but does not the poor bay also waste the time of his employers by idling in this way? No. But how does he avoid it? He charges the sender of the message 15 cents for coming from the office, 10 cents car fare, 30 cents an hour for looking in the windows, and 5 cents for the answer—total $1.20. How much of this money does he give his poor em- ployers? 84 cents. And what does he do with the rest? He collars it. But is 34 cents all the poor boy makes? Oh, no! If he is really smart he will make $1.54. How? By collecting at both ends. Oh! but what does the poor boy do with all that money? He invests it. In what? Real estate, bonds and cigarettes. But suppose you are in a very great hurry? Yes, dear. And you ring for a boy. Certainly, darling. And he comes, Exactly, my precious. And it ts dreadfully important that your message should go to its destination on time. Of course, sweet. Is there no means by which you can be certain of its prompt delivery? Oh, yes! I'm so glad! How? Take it yourself. “3G; SELECTED TALES. Foote, meeting Quin on the Strand one day, thus accosted him: “Good morning !” cried Foote, “ How are you?” answered Quin and passed on. Foote Smiled at the wit, but never forgave the sarcasm. WaAsuincTON, who afterwards became the father of his country, was one day dining at an old manor house on the Hudson with several heroes of the Revolution, Lafayette, who was present, turned to Washington and said pleasantly : ** General, try a potato,” “Sir !" replied the father of his country, fixing a look on Lafayette which those present never formst. ““T never eat pota- toes.” There was not a dry eye at the table. Cornucopia.—Plenty of corns, comicbooks.com