Life, 1883-07-19 · page 6 of 16
Life — July 19, 1883 — page 6: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Life Magazine Page 28 The page contains a brief satirical dialogue and a story titled "Didn't Pay Attention to the Game." **The Cartoon/Dialogue:** The illustration shows a country hotel scene with a male guest and female domestic. The joke turns on miscommunication: the male guest requests to be "called at four tomorrow morning" for fishing, while the female domestic mishears this as a social invitation ("I'm going fishing tomorrow morning and I wish to be called early—not later than four"). Her response—"Will you ring?"—suggests she's either confused or making a sarcastic comment about the implied impropriety. **The Story:** This humorous narrative describes a poker game where Major Starr, a wealthy but reckless player, loses significantly at cards in a New Orleans club. The satire mocks his transparent bluffing techniques and poor judgment, ultimately resulting in financial loss. Both pieces are genteel Victorian-era humor focused on social misunderstandings and gambling consequences.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Scene: An humble country hotel. Male Guest: I'D LIKE TO BE CALLED AT FOUR TO-MORROW MORNING; I'M GOING FISHING. Female Domestic (stupidly): En? Male Guest (deliberately): I'M GOING FISHING TO- MORROW MORNING AND I WISH TO BE CALLED EARLY —NOT LATER THAN FOUR. Female Domestic (stolidly): WILL You RING? DIDN'T PAY ATTENTION TO THE GAME. FUNNY thing happened at the Club in this city last winter. Our old friend, Dr. Bates, whom everybody knows and likes ; who is a genial and hos- pitable gentleman, ashe is a devoted and accomplished poker player, was having a little game with a party in one of the Club card-rooms. The Doctor has his pe- culiarities, like every one else, and among them is the habit of growing very critical and punctilious, though never disagreeably so, when luck goes against him. Winning, he is jovial, full of jokes, and spluttering with laughter. Losing, he is dignified, melancholy, polite, and bristling with an ostentatious resignation most edifying to behold. On the night in question the Doctor was in particularly bad luck. All his big hands were beaten, and his two pairs and bob-tail flushes were only so many devices of Satan for luring him to destruction. His profoundly conceived and brilliantly executed bluffs were promptly and ruthlessly squelched, and the Doctor's politeness had grown so LIFE elaborate and so ornamental that it appalled the bravest heart. In a word, it was deadly. Among the players was rollicking, devil-may-care Major Starr. The Major had come in late from a swell dinner up town. He was pretty well tanked up with extra dry Munm and heady old Chambertin, and was drowsy and uproarious by turns. Starr always played a peculiar game. For a while he would in- dulge in the most palpable and transparent bluffs. Then he would throw away his money with a bull- headed folly almost past belief. Another time he would play as close as the paper on a parlor wall; have ‘em every time, and take no chances, But through it all he was the same hell-roaring, seemingly inattentive and rollicking Starr. Nobody ever felt sure of him. Nobody knew how to take him, Like all players of his class, he was a perilous man in good luck, and a pigeon for everyone to pluck in bad. To- night he was playing with great success, scooping everything before him, first with a tremendous hand, and then by a bewilderingly impudent bluff. The Doctor was his bright, particular victim. If the Doc- tor had a flush, Starr would have a full. If the Doctor felt a little tender-footed with a two-pair hand, Starr would fall upon him and bluff him off the field, show- ing his cards afterward, and pretending to have thought he had something. It may be imagined that, under such circumstances, the Doctor stiffened in a manner quite beyond prece- dent. He beat the record. He became so gloomy and so formal that the other players shivered when he looked at them. And all the time he was meditating a terrible and bloody vengeance. At dast his oppor- tunity came. ‘The final or consolation “ pot" was put up to be played for as a termination of the game, It is a custom in New Orleans to play these “ winding up” pots. They are something to look forward to. They give the losers a chance to recoup, and, gener- ally, lend an excitement to the finish, The winner of the pot pays the bar-bill—the drinks, cigars, suppers, * etc.—but there is always two or three hundred dollars left after settling every indebtedness, and this, espe- cially if a man has been losing, is a very welcome rem- nant. This time the pot was unusually large. It counted up $387 net, as it was poured upon the table, and the players braced up with more than common eagerness. The hands were dealt. First one passed, then another. Starr mumbled something to the effect that he couldn’t or wouldn't open it, but! finally a fellow rather timorously shoved up a $10 chip, and said, “I open it.” In regular succession they followed suit, until it came to Starr. Starr had been very sleepy. They had to tell him it was his turn. He appeared to throw off his drowsiness by an effort. “Hello! What's this? Eh? Pot opened—$10—Who did it? I make it $20. I didn't know, you know, etc.” Now was the Doctor's time. Nobody had an opening hand except the open- ing man, and he seemed not to have more than a pair The Doctor convulsed his features Three men Starr said the Doctor of Jacks at best. in a terrible smile, and made it $30. dropped out in consternation. comicbooks.com