Life, 1916-08-17 · page 14 of 38
Life — August 17, 1916 — page 14: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two distinct items: **"The Last Straw"** (top): A domestic comedy story about Mrs. Henry Starr preparing for an outing. Her husband rushes her, insisting they'll be late, but she hasn't finished her hair or taken in her dress at the waist. The story mocks the traditional tension between husbands wanting punctuality and wives taking time with appearance—a common domestic humor trope of the era. **"A Letter from a Golfing Dictator"** (bottom): A satirical letter from Charles E. Hughes, Republican presidential candidate, written from the Republican Club of Tomato-Can, Nevada. Hughes boasts about golf while discussing his campaign, mixing casual sports commentary with political ambition. The satire suggests Hughes is too focused on leisure activities rather than serious campaigning—a critique of his candidacy.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
270 The Last Straw RS. HENRY STARR stood be- fore a mirror, draping her shroud. It was her final day on earth, but she had no intention of appearing in pub- lic otherwise than becomingly attired. She had been a noted beauty for too many years to run such a risk. She regarded her charming reflec- tion with a frown of disapproval. “The horrid thing!” she exclaimed. “I'm a perfect fright in it.” “My dear,” said her husband, “ you must hurry; you really must. This is important, you know. “But, Henry, I can’t go out like this. It needs taking in at the waist. And I haven't done my hair yet.” The sonorous notes of Gabriel's trumpet rang forth, awful peal on peal. The deafening blasts rever- berated through the street, dying away in the distance. The house seemed to tremble. Husband and wife turned pale. “Hurry, hurry, Eleanor,” he cried. “You will be too late.” “In a moment, Henry,” gasped Mrs. Starr, frantically arranging her hair. “You are always so impatient.” Henry Starr tiptoed stealthily from the room, leaving his wife before the mirror. “T have waited for Eleanor a great many times,” he muttered as he slammed the door behind him. “ But I can’t wait now Mr. Flea: come, DEAR. LET'S SE DOWN HERE AND GROW UP WITH THE COUNTRY, “Tam a Hughes man, soul and beady.” A Letter from a Golfing Dictator Charles E. Hughes, Republican nominee for President, combined business with pleasure yesterday by playing golf with his secretary, Mr. Greene, who, besides playing the game, took dictation on the green between plays.—News item EPUBLICAN CLUB OF TOMATO- CAN, NEV. Fore! In reply to your kind con- gratulatory letter of the 18th inst., per- mit me to say that you will have to move your ball, Greene. How do you think I can putt when I have to use a mashie to thank you for your loyal sentiments ex- pressed in same? A great future lies before the young men of the Republican party. There are some bad bunkers on the next hole. If I can carry them on my second shot and have the support of the honest and ' progressive: clement in this country, I should be able to make it in par and be elected easily. The start of my campaign has been auspicious. My drive on the third hole was a peach, and I have been handicapped by no bad lies. Letters such as yours do much to lighten the labors of the campaign, and I trust that you will not neglect to replace all divots. Caddy, hand me my brassy ! Sincerely yours, Cutarces E. Hucues. comicbooks.com