Life, 1920-05-20 · page 17 of 48
Life — May 20, 1920 — page 17: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This satirical dialogue contrasts two exploited child performers: the "Stage Child" (an actor) and the "Musical Prodigy" (a violin virtuoso). Both are child laborers forced into professional performance rather than normal childhood. The satire mocks their inverted priorities. The Prodigy complains his younger cousin lacks "dramatic ability" and can't roller-skate—missing that ordinary children *should* play marbles and spin tops. The Stage Child romanticizes "nice, healthy atmosphere" while performing nasty jazz and "golden-haired, impossible" roles. The joke's bitter core: these children have been so professionally groomed they've lost perspective on what childhood means. They defend their exploitation as artistically necessary, while their earnings go to managers and teachers—not themselves. The bottom cartoon ("A True Believer") shows a child building a dog kennel after praying for a log, illustrating misplaced faith in divine provision. Both pieces critique child labor disguised as artistic opportunity.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
937 you were a little more—er—mature,” mused the Stage Child, who was really a terror. “Even your best notices are in- clined to consider your future ability Frankly now, for the time being, wouldn't you like a respectable, balanced educatiot well rounded out and embracing the sim ple pleasures and games in which ordinary children are ordinarily encours “Well,” said the Prodigy with refresh ing naivety, “to tell the truth, T would My cousin, who is two years younger than Iam, is constantly laughing at my flashes of ignorance. He says [ can’t read decent ly, or write, or figure, or even roller-skate, or spin a top, or play marbles, or do any thing a regular boy car do. He's rather an ungrateful beggar—inasmuch as I'm paying for his schooling—and his tops and marbles, for that matter it ic does make me out a bit of a stupid.” “It makes me sick,” sympathized the Stage Child. “We have dramatic ability THINGS THEY DIDN'T SEE ON THEIR HONEY St00N We like to act—and it's good for us, the Between Child Laborers sink to the level of adults and be forced to work with them for it? It's their songs Stage Child and of it. Asleep when I ought to be awake and their silly problems we take part in, ex the Musical Prodigy awake when I ought to be in bed. Say! not ours, When I'm not helping them pice ma G 2b x “You're the man “ Baseball—what is that? I know only Nice, healthy atmosphere! And _ there's I've been looking my art. I live for my art. Tama grrreat younger than I at it, too.” said the Stage Child. “Tell me, — artissstt!” “Wow!" yelled the Prodigy, who, like hat is this child-labor thing “1 wonder if you would have been just all good little prodigies, had originally met on the busy What wouldn't you give for an old-fash- sing their nasty jazz, I'm playing the thoroughfare, ioned game of baseball?” golden-haired, impossible chee-ild. Ugh! You shouldn't ask me,” answered the as great if you had made your début when come from Russia m sick of it my- sical Prodigy. “Iam a violin player on'tknow. But my playing... ah— \ interrupted the Stage Child, “1 about your playing. Your me to luncheon yesterday Child was a bit sophisticated Il her eleven years 1 the y, who was Lat her remark, “1 should say as the exploitation of minors uniary gain.” Author! Author!" jeered the Stage who had already had too m: s of vaudeville experience to her dis- Well, if what you just said is so, t occur to you that ie are child claimed the Prodigy indignantly, tissstt! Surely you are. A remarkable one— r your age. But, if you'll pardon the », What do you do with the great s you receive for your efforts?” art of it goes to my managers, part the Maestro who taught me all I know, —IT support my A TRUE BELIEVER Catting out the ro, your case and Father: WMAT DO YOU WANT TO HUILD A DOG KENNEL POR? YOU HAVEN'T A LOG. ire alike. Believe you me, I'm sick “NO, BUT 1 PRAYED FOK ONE LAST NICHT comicbooks.com