Life, 1902-03-06 · page 14 of 22
Life — March 6, 1902 — page 14: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three distinct satirical pieces: **"Life in New York"** mocks urban dangers of the era—trolleys, train collisions, explosions, hotel fires, automobiles—through a man who has survived them all (losing limbs, hair, an eye) yet remains oddly optimistic about reaching old age through probability. **"A Dishonorable Proposition"** is a brief joke about publishing: an author proposes paying royalties based on the publisher's *advertised* book sales figures. The publisher's horrified response—"Do you want to force us to tell the truth?"—satirizes the gap between actual and claimed sales in the publishing industry. **"A Russian Novel"** parodies the verbose, digressive style of 19th-century Russian literature. A couple's romantic exchange is interrupted by absurdly long passages on peasant clothing, nobility, nihilism, and political theory—until the count simply asks for scrambled eggs, undercutting the pretentious gravity. The final section references **Kitchener's** role in the Boer War (South Africa) and suggests Americans would similarly glorify similar military actions in the Philippines, criticizing nationalist mythology.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE SITUATION REMAINS UNCHANGED. JONN SOMEWHAT DAZED, BUT STILL DETERMINED, DONCHERKNOW. Life in New York. H, I lost a leg by trolley, And a hand and arm eloped In a head-to-head collision When the trains were telescoped. By a premature explosion When I happened to be nigh, I was shot across some houses And came down without an eye. In a hotel conflagration All my hair was burned away, Bald as on my natal day. Rendered somewhat slow of motion By these accidents, I failed To escape an automobile In the instant I was hailed ; And since then I've made my progress, After all these daring feats, In a carriage which a servant Pushes slowly thro’ the streets. Though I’m rather bruised and battered, ‘There is still one comfort, for By the theory of chances I shall live to reach fourscore. William Wallace Whitelock, A Dishonorable Proposition. UTHOR: Say, I'd (\ like to make an ar- { rangement with J you to pay me my royalties on the basis of your pub- lished advertisements of the sale of my books. PUBLISHER : Good heavens! Do you want to force us to tell the truth? A Russian Novel. = O,” said Marie N Sugaroff. Seventeen pages de- scriptive of the attire of the peasant women of the Caucasus. “No?” said Count Maxim Gjosczicz. Twenty-one pages con- cerning the nobility, land tenure and judicature in the vicinity of the Black Sea. “No,’’ repeated Marie. Three hundred and forty-seven pages on nihilismand the doctrine of terror. “Then,” said the count, ‘scramble me an egg!” Five hundred and sixty- three pages touching the basic principle of the Russian foreign policy, the esoteric aspect of Peter the Great's epi- lepsy,and the real sig- nificance of Pan-Slavism, “Very well!’ said Marie, courtesying. THE END. T is sickening to think - how Kitchener will be glorified in Englandwhen he shall have finished his gruesome job in South Africa, But what is more sic! ing still is to think that he would be equally glorified here with us, were he ours, and had done a similar job in the Philippines. ONE BY A XOsE. comicbooks.com