Life, 1922-05-04 · page 15 of 34
Life — May 4, 1922 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This humorous article recounts a visit to the narrator's mother's house in the countryside. The piece gently satirizes women's intuition and predictive abilities—the mother supposedly senses something "dreadful" will happen, yet the day proceeds perfectly: the car runs smoothly, lunch arrives on time, the cook performs well, and the weather cooperates beautifully. The accompanying cartoon depicts a prehistoric man with a dog approaching what appears to be the tape finish line—a visual pun on the article's title about "prophets" and prediction. The caption jokes that this is "the origin of the happy expression worn by all sprinters as they approach the tape," suggesting that making accurate predictions (or winning races) is easier than it seems—if you simply "know how."
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LIFE Infallibility It’s Easy to Be a Prophet If You Only Know How “T WISH we were not going to your mother’s,” said Louise that morn- ing. “| have a presentiment that some- thing dreadful will happen, and you know how woman’s intuition is.” I had been married long enough to know. It is infallible. However, we started. The car ran beautifully. We rolled through Westchester, drinking the spring air, joyously marvelling at the ever-new glories of the countryside. Along the Post Road we made forty- five miles an hour for a fifteen-minute stretch. Not a motorcycle policeman appeared. In fact, we did not see one throughout our drive. The tires behaved so wonderfully that they made their guarantee seem pessi : “[ am certain that something dread- ful will happen,” Louise told me again as we arrived at Mother's place, ex- actly on time—fifteen minutes to one. Mother was enjoying good health. Even the servant problem did not worry her at the moment. Luncheon was perfect. The cook had surpassed herself. The maid seemed almost cheerful as she served us. The day continued its perfect be- havior. The sun was a glory of glories. We enjoyed our ramble through the fields immensely. Mother's garden was abloom with early flowers. Her vegetables were showing satisfactory progress, The neighbor’s chickens had been far more considerate than usual. The afternoon flitted away as if it were only twenty minutes in a stud poker game. “I am having a glorious time, but I am so afraid that something will hap- pen,” was the whispered information conveyed to me just before dinner. The people Mother had _ invited proved extremely likable. The dinner was superb. The hollandaise was every- thing it might be, and that, after all, is the supreme test. Even the conver- sation was almost interesting. We drove home slowly, under a moon that made us forget that we had been married eight years. Not a single mis- hap marked our outing, and we reached our apartment perfectly content with our day. An hour later we decided to retire. As we were leaving the living room, Louise brushed against a vase—the delicate, shimmering thing Uncle Phil had given her—-and it crashed to the floor. “There !” she exclaimed, triumphantly, as she gazed at the fragments. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone to your mother’s. I told you something dread- ful was sure to happen.” JK. M. A little incident in the daily life of a prehistoric man, showing the origin of the happy expreseion worn by all sprinters as they approach the tape, comicbooks.com