Life, 1903-12-10 · page 19 of 58
Life — December 10, 1903 — page 19: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a domestic humor story about Mr. Dimpleton, who forgot to mail a dinner invitation to the Whitters. Rather than confess immediately, he lies to his wife, claiming the Whitters called to cancel—a "great stroke" he believes will spare him blame. The joke hinges on Victorian middle-class anxiety about social embarrassment and household management. His wife had already begun dinner preparations; an unmailed invitation would have been humiliating. The sidebar cartoon of a man scolding a malfunctioning stove offers comedic relief on the theme of domestic frustration. The humor lies in Dimpleton's small deception and self-congratulation, followed by his confession at day's end. His wife's light laugh suggests he's forgiven—the story playing on the period's gender dynamics where husbands managed social obligations while wives managed the home.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
89099 OLIFES OOees “OUT! OCT! BASE BURNER! THOU DIDST PKOMISR TO WARM ME THE WINTER THROUGH 1" A CHRISTMAS EVE SURPRISE. VISITORS PROM THE PaMILy TREE, a disappointment for you. The Whitters are not coming to- night.” “Not coming?” “No. I've just received a tele- phone from Whitter, saying that an unexpected matter has come up, and much against their will and inclination they cannot possibly be with us.” Dimpleton felt that his lie should be as ornamental as possible. Mrs. Dimpleton’s voice was full of anxiety. “ Are you sure of this?” “ Absolutely. Whitter just tcle- phoned. He was all broken up. Says they had been looking forward so much to this evening. He's going to explain it all later. By the way, have you ordered the dinner?” “ No, but I was just going to.’’ “ Well, I'm glad he called me up just as he did.” Mrs. Dimpleton's voice was tired as she replied. “Yes—just intime. But I'm sodis- appointed. I had planned such a nice dinner, It is too bad.” ** Yes, it’s too bad. Good-by.”’ “ Good-by.”” Dimpleton figuratively patted him- self on the back all the afternoon. That was a great stroke. It was bad enough to have forgotten to mail that invitation, but just suppose, hoe chuckled, that dinner had been ordered and no one toeatit. How he would have caught it! Now he would go home and explain it all, and be forgiven. At half past six—a little later than his usual home coming, he stood be- fore his wife, who was calmly seated in the library reading a magazine. “My dear,”’ he said brisk! not going to do anything until I tell you something. I'm not even going to wash my hands and face and brash my hair. I have a confession to make, and so here goes. “Do you know, I forgot entirely to mail that invitation to the Whitters. When I got to the office to-day, I found it in my clothes.” Mrs, Dimpleton laughed lightly. comicbooks.com