Life, 1907-06-13 · page 10 of 24
Life — June 13, 1907 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This satirical cartoon depicts men in formal dress celebrating wildly while holding large money bags. The illustration accompanies a narrative story about theft and deception. The cartoon appears to satirize **inheritance and wealth acquisition through dishonest means**. The exuberant figures suggest people rejoicing over obtaining money—possibly illegally or through fraud, as the accompanying story involves a pawn broker, stolen goods, and criminal activity. The title "The Heirship Age" likely mocks the idea that in modern times, people achieve wealth not through legitimate inheritance or honest work, but through criminal schemes, con artistry, and deception. The story's plot—involving a girl, a detective, and a stolen pin—reinforces themes of crime and moral corruption in pursuit of money. This reflects turn-of-century anxieties about urban crime and fraud.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
walk and down through a basement. In a moment she had returned. She held in her hand a fragment of mirror. “Let me put it on.” He handed her the pin—a superb dia mond and ruby pendant—and she stuck it on the bosom of her tattered dress ‘Then catching a favorable ray of light, she held off the glass and looked at her- self. “Jimmie, it’s gran’.” “Ain’t it.” He snatched it from her. “Tl be takin’ it back.” She grabbed him by the arm. keep it.” “Me—keep it? What fer?” “Per me.” She smiled at him. “Pl look pretty in it,” she said one will know. Jimmie?” “Naw, I can’t. It ain’t mine.” “You must.” “Naw.” She got up. She held out her hand to- ward him until he could sce every line of her flattened palm. “Den we part company—see? No more for me. Skidoo!” He gazed at her in astonishment “You mean it, Mag?” “Yep.” He hesitated. Taking the bauble out of his pocket, he looked at it again “On the level ?” he persisted. For answer she took his coat in her fingers, leading him out. “Come,” she whispered; “we'll soak it. I know a safe place.” Swiftly they passed out. Like night birds they sped onward, onward, through streets, along alleys, until at last they paused before a dingy shop with three faded gilt balls in front “You THE HEIRSHIP AGE ‘They entered. The girl nodded to the man in charge. He nodded back. A look passed between them. He led the way into a back room. The girl whispered to the boy and he drew the pin from his pocket. The pawn- broker, not to call him a worse name, pounced upon it. His crafty, expert eyes shot their way into its very depths, sound- ing as with a visual plummet their hid- den secrets. Not a geometrical line or so much a fleck upon their translucent sides escaped him. “Vell,” he whispered, “how mooch do you vant?” “How much you give?” asked the girl. The broker shrugged his shoulders. He spread out his hands. “A hundred dollar.” But the girl had already snatched it from him. “Come,” she whispered to her part- ner; “he’s a skin.” But the man stopped her. “Ah, y two.” Her eyes flashed. “Make it a thousand.” “Oh, my, and me taking all de risk! tell you vat I do. I make it five hun- dred. Quick! Or noddings.” “Allright. We'll take it.” He went to a leather-covered trunk in a corner of the dark room, counted out the bills, made out a ticket and passed them over to the girl. She gave them to the boy. “Put ’em in your pocket, Jim,” she whispered. : He obeyed her mechanically, half dazed. ‘They passed out. Swiftly they made their way along Suddenly, in their flight, a tall form stood over them. A strong hand grabbed the boy. “Well, Jimmie, you thought you'd get away, did you? Not on your life. With the goods on, too!” The boy started, pressed together. J ‘The detective thru him. But the young ¢° ., like a young tigress, in a very passion of tears, flung herself upon him. “You shan’t take him away,” she cried. ‘He's mine.” “Come, young one, be quiet.” He pushed her off. Again and again. Then, sobbing, she put her arms about Jimmie. She clung to him desperately. “Come, come,” said the detective; “run along. It’s no use. Run away, little girl.” She pulled herself together. Her voice grew quiet. “Oh, sir!” she pleaded. “Please, please, let me go with him. Don’t take me away from him.” The detective smiled back, as he pushed his prisoner along into the hands of a policeman he had motioned to. “I'd like to oblige you, my dear. But I can’t do it. You see he’s the one that did it, not you.” Once more she sprang upon him. “No, no!” she cried. “I did it. Itwas I, I, I—let me tell you. 1” —— She got no further. Jimmie’s hand was over her mouth. “Shut up, Mag,” -he said to her sternly. Then he tured to the detective. “She's a liar,” he said simply. “I did it, all right, all right.” T.L. M. ‘pped. His lips tered no sound. tmly ahead of comicbooks.com