Life, 1921-09-29 · page 22 of 34
Life — September 29, 1921 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a short story (not a political cartoon) satirizing early 20th-century racial and cultural stereotypes. The narrative mocks Western attitudes toward Chinese immigrants and Asian culture. **The setup:** Mrs. Marshall, a wealthy Western woman, visits Cum Quot's antique shop with her Pomeranian dog, Mustapha. She patronizes him while maintaining "Occidental hygiene" standards despite the shop's filth. **The "joke":** The dog swallows chopsticks belonging to Cum Quot's deceased grandfather—sacred objects in Chinese ancestor veneration. Mrs. Marshall, oblivious to cultural significance, uses the chopsticks to retrieve the item from the dog's throat, committing what Cum Quot views as blasphemy. **The satire:** The story mocks Western ignorance of Asian customs and unconscious disrespect, while also presenting Cum Quot through reductive stereotypes (broken English, exoticized setting). The dark ending—Mustapha's disappearance—suggests revenge, playing into period fears about "inscrutable" Asians. The piece satirizes both Western arrogance and relies on the very stereotypes it seemingly critiques.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Lady with Camera (to artist who has been struggling for three weeks with his subject): Oh! Excuse me! (Click). Thank you so much. Good-by. OTs 2.9? Litty Doggie A Bit of Chinese Junk (Without apologies to Thomas Burke, Achmed Abdullah, Hugh Wiley, or anybody else) “TITTY DOGGIE,” cooed Cum Quot, as Mustapha, Maria Marshall's snuff Pomeranian sniffed at each grubby crevice. “Litty doggie . . .” Dust ...and the indescribable odors of antiquity. Rubbish . . . the smirched glaze of a Ming bowl...a row of begrimed ginger jars. And over all, dirt—dirt that was sticky to the unfortunate touch, This was the store of Cum Quot—a battered flotsam tossed into the turgid backwaters of a loathly swamp of stagnant humanity. “You like Mustapha, don’t you, Cum Quot?” asked Mrs. Marshall, holding her lace handkerchief before her face in compromise between Occidental hygiene and Oriental flair. She was wont to patronize him. “Oh, yas,” replied Cum Quot, giving a perfect example of an evasive answer. He disappeared into the unspeak- able interior of his shop. Mustapha—well-bred animal— continued to sniff. Suddenly his jaws opened and closed. He chewed in doggish delectation. “Oh!” cried Mrs. Marshall. “What nasty thing have you found, Mustapha? Drop it this instant, drop it!” Mustapha chewed on. “You must take that out of your mouth, dear,” implored Mrs. Marshall. Without replying Mustapha chewed on. In desperation, Mrs. Marshall’s anxious gaze settled upon a pair of blackened chopsticks lying upon the smudgy coun- ter of the shop. As Cum Quot reéntered, he was assailed by the unusual spectacle of Mrs. Marshall upon her kuices, trying with the chopsticks to rid Mustapha of the foreign substance he had acquired. Behind the placid mask of Cum Quot’s countenance raged a thousand devils of despair. Unwittingly, Mrs. Marshall had done a terrible thing. She had poked the chopsticks of his revered and defunct grandfather down the throat of a dog. Blasphemy, desecration and defilement! In the eyes of his ancestors, Cum Quot had lost face. * * * * * On his post-prandial constitutional that evening, Musta- pha disappeared. * ee OK comicbooks.com co