Life, 1896-10-01 · page 11 of 18
Life — October 1, 1896 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "The Masqueraders" - Life Magazine Page 253 This page contains a story titled "The Masqueraders" with accompanying illustrations. The narrative depicts a social encounter where the narrator attempts to bring a woman named Polly to an upscale venue (the French Hall), but she's reluctant due to concerns about being recognized by police or "fellows down there." The story involves deception and disguise—Polly wears a mask and chemise to hide her identity. A character named Sandy Hale appears to be involved in some kind of scheme or evasion. The satirical point appears to target social hypocrisy around public appearances and hidden identities in high society, though without additional context about specific historical events or figures referenced, the precise social commentary remains unclear. The illustrations show period-appropriate clothing and settings consistent with early-to-mid 20th century America.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
> LIFE: RAPID FERTILIZER, HEY? WELL, I GUESS. THE MASQUERADERS, SX TOW, Polly, don't be absurd,” said I, showing as little of my dismay as possible. “It's not absurd, and we're going, cisively. ‘But it’s no place for you, dear; there, do be reasonable and let's go home.” I threw all the persuasion I could into my voice and took her hand, for a quick glance out of the brougham showed me we were at Eighteenth Street; and there was no time in the cight blocks more to dissuade so persistent a person as Polly by ordinary methods. ‘*No,” she replied, in a manner that was conclusive to me, “‘we are going; I've always wanted to go to the French Ball, and now that we are married, I'm going to claim some of the privileges of a matron and go.” “But matrons don’t go,” said I, weakly, uncomfortably conscious that Polly was a law unto herself, *‘ and besides,” I went on, ‘ you haven't any mask or anything.” “Yes, I have," she said gaily, and leaning forward she drew a domino and mask from under the seat. “Polly !" 1 exclaimed reproachfully, for I saw that I had been duped, and that the whole thing had been pre- arranged. “IT don’t think ['ve got twenty dollars about me,” said I, making a last feeble stand. “Oh, I have my purse,” she answered sweetly, and I gave up. “Drive to Madison Square Garden,” I called through the tube, and a moment later the carriage swerved sharply around the corner of Twenty-sixth Street. I glanced at Polly and found her already transformed, and unrecogniz- able. “Don't say a word and hold tight to my arm all the time,” whispered I, as we stepped to the street and passed through the gaping crowd. “Give me a box,” said I at the office, throwing down a bill. answered she, de- 253 “T thought you had no money,” Polly laughed in my ear. “IT hadn't as long as I thought there was a chance of keeping you away fiom here,” and I pushed through the entrance, with Polly clinging to my arm. “Why are there so many policemen?” she asked, just a trifle apprehensively, glancing at the long row of blue coats standing listlessly about. ‘Oh, they've given them a night off,” said I, sarcastically, as‘we turned up the staircase. The motley crowd on the floor was just swinging into a “‘quick-step,” under the influence of one of Sousa’s lively marches, as we took our seats, and Polly leaned forward over the rail with gleaming eyes. “Sit back,” said I, testily ; ‘do you want every one to see you?” “*They won't know who it i “Well, I know,” answered I, ‘‘and [ don’t want them star- ing up here at you. Besides, they know me.” “*Who knows you ?” asked Polly. “Oh, there are a lot of the fellows down there,” I ex- plained, hastily. And at that moment my name was hurled WHAT'LL | DO WITH If?” at me from below. I stepped back, but too late ; I could see Sandy Hale making for the stairs. “There,” I exclaimed, angrily. moment.” “Well, Sandy won't hurt.” “*No, but he'll make a nuisance of himself.” There was a tap just then at the door. I stepped to it quickly and turned the key. “What is it?” I demanded grufly, attempting to disguise my voice in the hope that he would think he had made a mistake and go away. ‘Lemme in,” came through the key-hole in a befuddled voice. “Go away, Sandy,” I answered, in a conciliatory tone “there's a good fellow.”” “Oh, lemme in,” he begged. “He'll be up here in a comicbooks.com