Life, 1902-11-06 · page 7 of 24
Life — November 6, 1902 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "The Taming of Bill the Brute" This is a fictional narrative story, not a political cartoon. It tells of a rough bull terrier named Bill who is reformed through patient training by a Man. The story critiques lower-class fighting culture: Bill's original owner used him in dogfighting, a brutal practice involving "low-bred men" and betting. The narrative contrasts this with genteel society—Bill eventually becomes a respectable companion. The story also mentions Baxton's Crib, a stout old fighting dog, and includes commentary about someone named Thomas visiting an academy. The satirical point appears to be about civilization and redemption: even the roughest "brute" can be trained and elevated through proper treatment, implicitly mocking working-class brutality while celebrating upper-class refinement and compassion.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
The Taming of Bill the Brute. ILL THE BRUTE was the victim of his environ- ment. Noone ever knew a gentler young bull terrier than he was when he began to live with his Man on the day fate and a large check parted him from his weeping mother at Garden City. His solemn eyes had cold, red rims, but the Man looked deep into them and saw that the pup had an affectionate nature, and was capable of living up to the best traditions of his race. The Man determined to make the little fellow an example to all dogkind, but destiny had other plans. The first step in the pup's downward career was the changing of his name, which in the family pedigree was recorded as Champion Launcelot XVIII. “I'm a very busy person, pup,” said his Man, “and T shall call you Bill.” The reckless, dashing sound of the new name gave the grave, young Launcelot his first inclination toward a life of sport. He used to hide under the sideboard merely to revel in the luxury of hearing his Man call, “Here, Bill! Come out here, Bill!” It sounded so devilish sporty. Moreover, the Man, being one of those who direct the affairs of the nation from a glaring desk in Newspaper Row every night, felt the need of regular exercise, and he made Bill his companion during brisk afternoon walks through the Park. Below the reservoir Bill and the Man obeyed the letter of the Jaw, but in the green forest above the crystal inland sea they threw off the leash and ran on the grass, and had fine wrestling matches in which each fought for possession of a stick or a thick strap, — ih i LA STRANGE BIRD! If the Man had reflected that these long walks and tug- ging matches are the methods used by low-browed men to get fighting dogs in fettle for the pit he might have desisted; but, not being addicted to any form of mental effort outside of the Globe office, he continued unconsciously to prepare Bill for his fate. Buxton's Crib also contributed to the disaster. Crib was a stout, old, retired fighter, who lived in the basement of the Riding Academy around the corner, worshiped by all who knew him, from Miss Tottiflufs Pomeranian midget to the brewer's Great Dane. They loved him for the enemies he had put away. When Thomas, the day elevator boy, dropped in to visit ‘groom at the academy, Bill was with him. Bill approached big Crib with his heart beating a trifle faster than usual, perhaps, but his eyes burned like red coals as he walked stiff-legged up to the powerful stranger, and the hair along his back stood up like a white scrubbing-brush inverted. “Oh, I say, there's nothink doink ’ere,” said Crib, wag- ging an amiable tail. ‘You're a well-plucked young ‘un to come up to me growlink, but I'm champion of England, y'know, and Icahn’t foight unless the oof’s in the stake- Yolder’s ‘ands, me boy.” So Bill was pushed further along the downward path. He had made his first bluff, and it was successful. Buxton's Crib, with the best intention in the world, did him a great deal of harm, too, for he became a foster-father to the youngster when he learned his real name. “W'y, I came aout 'ere from 'ome to foight your father for the championship of the world,” said the old one, with sorrowing comicbooks.com