Life, 1906-08-02 · page 27 of 40
Life — August 2, 1906 — page 27: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a serialized short story (continued on page 143) about a young man named Holton visiting a town by train. The narrative setup involves early-1900s transportation: he arrives by rail and encounters a boy with a gasoline-powered runabout—a relatively new, expensive automobile technology that marks the owner as wealthy. The story's title and the illustration (labeled "HONEY," showing a young woman's face surrounded by flowers) suggest a romantic plot. The joke appears to center on courtship rituals of the era: Holton claims to be visiting to see the boy's sister Gerty, but his hesitation when directly asked reveals his real purpose. The "gasoline courtship" likely refers to how modern automobiles were enabling young couples to court away from parental supervision—a novel social concern of the early automotive age. The satire targets both new technology and changing social customs around dating and independence.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
*LIFE * A Gasoline Courtship By Grack CnapaMan SPADER R fully You haven’t learned to drive the big one “Father and mother well?” fortymiles yet?” “Yes, sir.” down the “No The chauffeur is awful mean. “And your sister?” coast the railroad lay He was giving sister a lesson the other “Gerty’s all right. Say, Mr. Holton!” in a straight line. day, and I asked him if he would let “Well, Bob?” Dick Holton, as he me, and he wouldn't.” . “You came to see Gerty, didn’t you?” looked out of the window “Your people all home?” Holten hesitated slightly. Of course of the flying express, “Yes, sir.” he had come to see her—who else? It caught intermittent (Continued on page 143) glimpses of the . sea as he sped along. The wastes between were sandy streaks, interspersed with sparse stubble and those hardy green things that flaunt their verdure so persistently in the face of old ocean. On the other side lay the white road, rounded, and smooth as a bil- hard table. It seemed a long time to Holton betore the train slowed up for Tabor Junction, but it came at last. He looked at his watch. It was 12.05 The train was fifteen minutes late. Holton got out and stretched his legs on the station platform. Lined up alongside of this platform was a motley group of carriages—four hacks, two buckboards and a small gasoline runabout. All around was the same inevitable waste of sand and brush, with a few bleak houses in the dis- tance. From the runabout sprang a small boy. He ran up to Hol- ton effusively. oW hello, Mr Holton. What are you doing here?” “Hello, Bob. I thought I'd surprise you. How did you happen to be at the station?” “Oh, I had to get some* gasoline over there, and I thought I’d just run into the station to see the people come in. Gee! But I’m glad to see you. You're coming to sce us, in’t you?” Helton smiled. “Well,” he said, thought I'd run down for a few hours and take a look around. Is that your car?” “Yes. Papa gave it to me for my birthday. It’s a dandy one, isn’t it?” “Splendid. Just right for you. comicbooks.com