Life, 1913-12-04 · page 47 of 112
Life — December 4, 1913 — page 47: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous short story illustrated with a sketch showing a woman in an evening dress and a man in conversation in what appears to be a bedroom or dressing room. The joke concerns a woman (a chorus girl) who has been laced into her corset so tightly by her maid that she cannot move her arms to scratch an itch on her nose. When she asks the male narrator for help, he expresses exasperation at the impracticality of tight-laced corsets—comparing women's fashion constraints unfavorably even to foot-binding practices in China. The humor culminates when she reveals her maid has left for the day, trapping her. As solutions are proposed (a neighbor, the butler), she rejects each with embarrassment, fearing social consequences. The satire targets early 20th-century women's fashion and the restrictive corsetry that limited movement and independence—portraying such constraints as absurd and impractical while also mocking female social propriety and concern for reputation.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Proposals of Robinson THE CHORUS GIRL “Excuse me,” she said. I thought she was blushing again slightly. “ But you wouldn’t mind doing me a favor, would you?” “TI should be delighted,” I replied. Indeed my heart went out to her. “Scratch my nose—the left side, please—gently. Oh, that was ever so good of you. You see I simply couldn't and——” “T understand,” I said. Then the pathos and cruelty of the whole affair coming over me, I cried with what I am sure was a touch of honest indigna- tion, “ Look here! I'm no saint, and I believe in conforming to style, but this is going a bit too far. Is it worth suffering like that? Talk about Chi- nese women! They don’t hold a can- dle to you American girls. When you put the blamed thing on and found it so tight why didn’t you take it off again and ship it back to the dress- maker? Why, she—or he—ought to be sued for damages. You didn’t have to wear it to-day, did you?” Her face turned pale. She looked up at me pleadingly. “T've got an awful secret to con- fess,” she faltered. “ You see, this is my maid’s day out. She isn't due here until to-morrow noon. The last thing she did was to hook me up—and then she flew. And here,I am. You know papa and mamma are on an. auto trip. It's awful, isn’t it?” And to think I had just dropped in upon her on my way from the tennis courts. Poor girl! My fertile mind began to work. Something must be done. I thought of everything, irom a burglar’s jimmy to the local hook and ladder company, “How about your next-door neigh- bor?” She shuddered. “Impossible! She's a cat. it everywhe' At this moment I caught a glimpse of the butler lighting the candelabra in the hall. He seemed, from his face, like a kind-hearted, gencrous-souled man. “He's been with you some time, hasn't he?” I suggested, indicating him, “TY could stand near, you kgow. Perhaps——" “Don't!” she whispered. “I couldn't think of such a thing. How could I ever face the poor man afterwards at She'd tell