Life, 1922-07-20 · page 8 of 36
Life — July 20, 1922 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains a cartoon and accompanying humorous story about a motorist giving an elderly woman a ride. The cartoon depicts an early automobile (appears to be from the 1910s-1920s era based on the styling) with the driver offering assistance to an older woman. The joke plays on class and gender dynamics: the "kindly motorist" assumes the old lady wanted to go somewhere specific, but she reveals she was actually heading in the opposite direction—she simply appreciated the courteous offer of a ride, regardless of destination. The accompanying "Achievement" story satirizes business ambition and social climbing, depicting Fred Booth's efforts to impress his wife and win a sales position by adopting leisure activities like golf. The satire mocks how middle-class characters performed respectability and competed for professional advancement through carefully cultivated social behaviors.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Kindly Motorist (who has given old lady a lift, after five miles): Old Lady: what you wuz, only I didden’ like t’ hurt sf HAT do you think, dear?” Fred Booth shouted to his wife, after he had led the pack by a good seven and two-fifths seconds in the sprint that began with the ar- rival of the five-forty-two. . “About that sedan we're going to have sometime,” Betsy answered, waiting until her husband should have lost his agonized sprinter’s ex- pression before she bestowed the usual welcome. “We're going to have it soon, dear; very soon,” he gasped. Followed a little dance, supposed- ly expressive of great joy, and then Fred went on. “Old Bruin”—which was the Cro- chet Manufacturing Company's way of alluding to their president—‘“he’s coming down to stay with us over the week-end, and I'm going to play golf with him. you wanted to go, Ma’am? a ride. e Achievement “Johnson told me that the chief was considering only Joe Grace and me for the sales managership, and Joe doesn’t play golf. That makes it look pretty good for us.” “But suppose you win the game,” objected Betsy. “Don’t be sarcastic at a time like this,” Fred responded. “If I could, of course I wouldn't. The old boy is keen as can be about coming out on top in a match, but I couldn't spoil his pleasure if I wanted to.” “That's a nice, sensible boy,” she commented and immediately went into executive session with herself to consider whether she wanted taupe upholstery, or whether the sedan would not look better with a sand- colored interior. She was still undecided that Sat- urday when Old Bruin arrived. “Glad to know you, Mrs. Booth,” And where did you say Well, to tell you the real truth, Mister, I wuz goin’ in th’ opposite direction from your feelin’s when you wuz so kind es to offer me he said. “Nice place you have here. How far is it to the links, Fred?” Half an hour later they were waiting at the first tee. “What sort of game do you play?” Old Bruin inquired. “I'm pretty much of a dub,” the prospective sales manager confessed. “Once I went around in 112, but most of the time I can’t break 120.” “Not stringing me, are you?” the older man asked, suspiciously, and added, “You’re in my class, then. Let’s make it a dollar a hole.” Fred agreed, naturally, and con- soled himself with the knowledge that he could not lose much more than ten dollars. Old Bruin drove first, a sickly ef- fort that cleared the ladies’ tee, but did little else The ball hit the ground, rolled over twice and then gave up the hopeless struggle. comicbooks.com