Life, 1920-02-19 · page 9 of 48
Life — February 19, 1920 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page features an illustration titled "Out of Danger" showing a large bulldog protecting a small kitten, paired with a poem called "Home" by Berton Braley. The cartoon appears to use animal metaphor: the bulldog likely represents a protective force (possibly Britain or a strong ally), while the kitten suggests vulnerability or a smaller nation requiring protection. The image's caption "Out of Danger" paired with the poem's themes of homesickness and returning from adventure suggests this reflects WWI-era sentiment—someone who has experienced conflict abroad now yearns for domestic safety and stability. The poem explicitly contrasts the romance of adventure ("the call of the sea," "roving stuff") with the comfort of returning home to simple pleasures and city life. This resonates with post-war disillusionment and soldiers' desires to return to normalcy.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
OUT OF DANGER Home And the thresh of the deep-sea rain,” And I harked to the hail of the wonder trail And I sailed on the rolling main. | HAD heard “the beat of the offshore wind I have breathed the air of the fo'c’sle there, And I've heard the engines champ, And I've fed the fire to my heart's desire In the stokehole of a tramp; And I've had my fill of the rovers’ thrill And the life that is “broad and free.” And I'm beating it back on the shortest tack To the place where T want to be. For I've had enough of this roving stuff; » more of the same in mine. You can plant me down in the roaring town Where the little old white lights shine. Oh, I'll he content though my time is spent On a job in a dry goods store, And I'll laugh out loud in a subway crowd To know that I'm home once more. For the call of the sea may be very keen, But I shall be deaf ther: I can “see the world” on a movie screen A block or two from my flat The tramp of feet on the city’s street Beats the heat of the offshore wind, And the clang and jar a trolley car Has the throb of an engine skinned. For though T burned for the trail, I've learned That I was a bit misled, And the city’s thrall is the only call That counts with the city-bred! Berton Braley, comicbooks.com