Life, 1915-12-02 · page 48 of 100
Life — December 2, 1915 — page 48: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page satirizes the hypocrisy of Prohibition-era social entertaining. The story depicts Mr. and Mrs. Maltby preparing for a visit from their old friend "Merky" (Mr. Mercator Phillby), an actor. The couple has meticulously assembled an elaborate illegal liquor collection—gin, scotch, rye, absinthe, and more—expecting a raucous drinking session. The joke's irony: when Phillby arrives, he virtuously refuses all alcohol, explaining he's a serious professional who never drinks or smokes because it would harm his work. He requests only milk and lime water, and suggests attending church and quiet activities instead. Mrs. Maltby is devastated—her carefully orchestrated plans collapse because her guest is morally upstanding. The "puzzle picture" caption (showing the couple) hints at the uncomfortable gift of moral superiority the actor unwittingly brings. The satire mocks 1920s upper-class drinking culture and the gap between public propriety and private excess during Prohibition.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
1076 sick for a couple of days after, but what of that? Let’s see— have we got everything? Gin, Scotch, rye, club, soda, wine, bitters, cherries, cigarettes, ab- sinthe —” “Suppose he should bring some of those dreadful chorus girls,” moaned Mrs. Maltby. “What would we do? They # say actors are fearfully irre- sponsible. Of course, being rarely sober, they are perhaps not accountable.” She seized a piece of bread from a handy plateful and be- gan to munch it. “We'll have to put ‘em up,” retorted Maltby grimly, “Don’t worry. You needn't let me out of your sight. We'll all go down to Hades together. Well, I'm off. Get the cracked ice ready and I'll be back in fifteen minutes.” Mrs. Maltby sat there for what seemed a small eternity sturdily munch- ing bread. She heard the whistle of the train as through an impenetrable fog. There was a grinding sound outside. The door opened. Voices. She sprang up and almost staggered to the door. Her heart leaped within her as she saw that her husband's schoolmate had come alone and that he walking upright, able, apparently, to support himself without grabbing the pictures on the walls. “Here's Merky, old boy!” almost shouted Maltby in an artificial voice. (Merky shook hands cordially with Mrs. Maltby while her husband went on.) nd now, old fellow, what will you have? I know you're simply dying fora drink So'm I. Got a thirst on me as long as an anaconda!” He almost dragged his friend into the dining-room, Mrs, Maltby meckly following. On the sideboard, hiding the sight of the plate of antidote bread that shrank in the background, was an array of bottles that would have done credit to the old Hoffman House bar in its palmiest days, while on the sew- ing table, surrounded by a regiment of glasses, was a salad bowl heaped full of cracked ice, “Now, old boy,” said Maltby, his Christmas Life PUZZLE PICTURE WHAT IS SHE GOING TO GIVE HIM FOR CHRISTMAS? manner almost intoxicated by the mere suggestion of what was coming, “what'll you have? Don’t be bashful! ¢ heard about you swift subur- banites,” said Merky, smiling, “and 1 was almost afraid to come out here. But—” “Ha! Hal” exclaimed Maltby. “That is a good joke. Shall we start on a Manhattan, Martini or Bronx? I'll mix one in a jiffy. How about a mint julep or a high-ball? Have a cigarette.” He passed a huge box of those deadly articles to his wife and his guest. “Name your poison,” he said. Mr. Mercator Phillby raised his hand. He was really a great actor, and his gesture commanded an_ instant spect. “My dear friends,” he said, “T can’t tell you the pleasure it gives me to renew this old tie. But, Bob, we are such old friends that I'm going to be perfectly honest with you. I never touch anything to drink. It would hurt my work if I did. I never did care for smoking. Besides, it’s very bad for the throat. In fact, I'm afraid I'm not much of a sport. I can’t afford to be, but even if I could, I wouldn't because—well—don't let me stop you. I never like to hold myself up as an example, but really, let me take my bags up to my room, and then if I must take something, give me a glass of milk and lime mater, and we'll sit on your lovely piazza and talk over old times. And to- morrow, if you don’t mind, we'll have a quiet time. I'd like to hear a good sermon and take a ride in the after- re- noon, and— When they were alone Mrs. Maltby, tearful and angry, grasped her col- lapsible husband by his arms. you—you—" she whispered ot us into this? Why, I don’t believe he would even play golf on Sunday!” She waved toward the mobilized bottles. “What are we to do with those?” she muttered. “If we don't drink now, he'll think we are not natural. And what will he think of us any- way!” “I'll be hanged if I care what he thinks!” said Maltby. “He may be an old friend, but he’s cheated me out of the time of my life. You actually made me think he might bring one of those chorus girls! It was you who misled me.” Mrs. Maltby buried her face in her hands as two sober, methodical and vir- tuous steps were heard coming down the stairs. “Here I am,” she moaned, “so full of bread that I simply cannot eat any dinner!”