Life, 1919-12-04 · page 18 of 80
Life — December 4, 1919 — page 18: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous domestic story, not a political cartoon. The illustration shows a woman holding wrapped Christmas gifts, labeled "GETTING THE HANG OF IT." The narrative describes a man who invites his lonely bachelor college friend Clarence for Christmas, treating him generously. The joke centers on Clarence's oblivious rudeness as a guest: he gives the narrator's children loud, obnoxious instruments (snare drum, trumpet, fire-engine gong, fife) that destroy the household peace, undermines the father's attempts to teach the boys financial discipline by lavishing them with money, and gives the wife a superior gift that makes the narrator's own present seem inadequate. He also gives the servants unusually large tips. The humor lies in the contrast between the narrator's selfless hospitality and Clarence's tactless, disruptive behavior—representing the "difficult houseguest" archetype that would resonate with readers managing holiday visitors.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
\ ¥. SS (4) ORE fistan fe Clarence for Christmas HERE is no reason in the world why I “should not have invited Clarence for the Christmas holidays. There is no reason under the sun why I should ever ask him again. Clarence and I wore each other’s clothes in college. Before that we went to prep school together. And before that we lived in the same town, on the same street. I thought that I knew Clarence as well as it is possible for one man to know another, and while from time to time I have noticed little faults in him, which I have labored hard to correct, the knife-in-the-dark methods which he employed while my holiday guest found me totally unprepared. Of course Clarence is a bachelor, and I am a happily married man, so that in the last few years we have seen each other only occasionally, And now that I think back on it, there was a cold glint of the eye, a metallic smile, when we did meet, that I had never observed in the Clarence of college da It must be that he changed when different interests had drawn us apart—or else I never knew him. A couple of days before Christmas I ran across him on the street It suddenly struck me that his was a lonely life, and on Christmas day, in his de- serted club, the hours could not help but be crammed with dreariness. “ Clarence,” I said, out of the fullness of my heart, “come out and spend the holidays with us.” He accepted on the spot. I extended the hand of warm friendship to my old chum, I gave him the easiest chair at my fireside. The cigars were the best that money could buy, and several choice bottles are of interest now to a junk dealer only. The food that I knew he was most fond of—although, frankly, the brute type that Clarence represents will cat practically anything—formed the basis of all our meals. I made sure that his every want was supplied, I regaled him with happy reminis- cences, featuring those Stories in which, by a stretch ‘LIFE: 3&\Réaadé of the imagination, he might appear as the hero— in short, I did-my utmost to warm the very depths “GETTING THE HANG oF IT” of his lonely bachelor heart. return— He gave Willie, my son, as a Christmas gift, a All this I did; and in snare drum and a trumpet. This par- ticular snare drum would undoubt- edly be the loudest instrument in the world were it not for this particular trumpet. He gave Jack, my younger son, a miniature fire-engine with a gong on it, anything but miniature, that lifts the hair off your head every time it clangs—which is continually. He also favored Jack with an instrument termed “musical” by people who do not know any better. I allude to the fife. He gave my wife a handsome pin that made my own little gift, selected with the utmost care, seem the offering of a piker in comparison, He gave me a pipe. Why a pipe, I don’t know. I have smoked cigarettes, and cigarettes only, for years, and he knows it. I have tried for the past two years to teach my two boys the value of money. I give Willie ten cents a week and Jack five for doing little odd jobs around the house. Clarence hadn't been in the house five minutes before he had given each of the boys a half-dollar for ab- solutely nothing. Then he gave them each a dollar for calling him Uncle Clarence, and fairly showered them with five- and ten-cent pieces. Willie has struck for fifty cents a week, and Jack for a quarter, Every Christmas, with a neat little speech of presen- tation, I give Mary, our maid, and Susan, our cook, a little cash gift. Hereto- fore they have both been very appreciative. Thi: year the effect was com- pletely marred by the fact that Clarence, just before he left, gave them in an offhand manner precisely twice as much as a tip as I had given them as a present. The boys are planning right now about next Christmas with Uncle Clarence. Next Christmas will be observed all right at my house, but Uncle Clarence won't— not with the naked eye. Hayward Bartlett. comicbooks.comi