Life, 1923-12-13 · page 14 of 36
Life — December 13, 1923 — page 14: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from *Life* magazine presents a humorous domestic diary by "Baird Leonard." The cartoon at top illustrates a scene of a woman (likely a maid or servant) standing while a man sits, with the caption: "BRIDGET, WHEN THE PLICEMAN COMES THIS EVENING, WILL YOU LET ME SIT ON HIS KNEE FIRST?" The joke plays on class dynamics and social propriety of the era. The dialogue suggests the woman is instructing household staff about entertaining a visitor (possibly a suitor or admirer), with an ironic request about seating precedence—implying the speaker wants priority attention before the servant does. The diary entries below discuss Christmas gifts, dinner parties, and social observations, reflecting upper-class domestic life and period attitudes toward etiquette and propriety.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
AS SSS R ‘\ ANSE “BRIDGET, WHEN THE P’LICEMAN COMES THIS EVENING, WILL YOU LET ME SIT ON HIS KNEE FIRST?” Ces Reps Diary Up betimes, reminding Samuel of our guests for dinner, whereupon he quoth, Is it a party? and when I asked his meaning, responded, Well, a lace tablecloth and chestnuts in the Brussels sprouts —that sort of thing. A letter by the first post from S. L, Fisher, vice-president of an Ohio brass foundry, who, reading of my desire for a spigot emitting hot and cold water simultaneously, pledges himself to send me one so that I may have naught left to desire. But Lord! I have now bethought me of a second wish, through having knocked over the clock and water bottle in putting out my bedlight. and it is for a cord-extinguisher by my pillow, such as they have in Paris. So I set it down in hope that Mr. Edison may hear of it. Eight of us at dinner, very merry, and Nate Kendall overturned his claret on the cloth, and I did assure him it was naught, albeit I longed to have the kettle brought in and boiling water poured straightway through the stain, but such a proceeding seemed unsuitable whilst we were in the midst of the salad course. ’ All the morning gone in addressing Christmas December : 7th cards until Inez Anderson came for luncheon with me, and she did tell me how she and her spouse had dined the preceding night with a girl from their village who had married millions, and had expected naught less than vintage champagne, but that the damsel, leaning backwards not to appear ostentatious and nouveau, had provided them with one weak cocktayle. And we fell a-talking of the pomp and trappings of this world, which | have a weakness for in spite of my simple nature, and hoy American it would be to bring up young females on thy pos ity of becoming the President's wife, but Lord! | see naught in that achievement beyond posing for innumer able unflattering photographs and lending one’s name to a prize rose or chrysanthemum. It is now a week since Sam purchased my Christmas gift, and in spite of many manceuvres I have not yet learned what it is. Off at midday to a bootery to have my new December |. 8 , ‘i iat 8th slippers eased, and thence to my husbands law chambers, where I found Hewitt Ho land, the Indianapolis publisher, and his wife Maney, and we all in great good spirits to the Ritz for luncheon. W! do we not have any real sole in this country? asked San commenting on the inn’s honesty in advertising flounder as such, It would seem our only recourse is to import a pi and toss them into the Hudson. Yes; two soles with but « single thought, responded Hewitt. And I did order Coeur 4 fa Créme for dessert, albeit I should have had better sense. God knows. Thence to the playhouse to see “The Swan.” highly diverting and well put on, nor did it seem credible that we wore such raiment in 1913. The others hilarious over the automatic precision of the flunkeys in the supper scene, but Lord! I beheld it with tears in my eyes, it being the kind of service of which I dream. Baird Leonard. comicbooks.com