The Wasp, 1918 · page 38 of 330
The Wasp — 1918 — page 38: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains **fiction text rather than political satire or cartooning**. It appears to be a serialized story excerpt from *The Wasp* magazine featuring a character named Burnham in a dramatic narrative involving violence. The text describes Burnham's hallucinatory dreams—apparently drugged—wherein he fantasizes about strangling Peter Queery. The narrative shifts confusingly between settings (a boat, London lodgings, a Kingston wine-shop) while Burnham is under the influence of "drugged punch." The passage culminates with Queery's apparent death and Burnham's delirious laughter. Without additional context about the publication date, the broader story, or accompanying illustrations, it's unclear whether this represents satirical social commentary or sensational fiction typical of late 19th/early 20th-century periodicals. The dark, violent subject matter and hallucinatory sequences suggest sensationalism rather than political satire.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE WASP 29 grimace. of rage and horror. The horizon was | empty. He lowered his glance and beheld, dim against the darkling sea, that convoying fin. _ There was no food in the boat. Burnham drank deep from the oaken breaker, then lay | flat on his back and stared up at the stars until sleep returned to him. In his sleep he dreamed that he had Peter Queery’s windpipe beneath- his fingers ; and he made the most of his oppor- | tunity, you may be sure. But the dream was vastly confused and delayed in its action, for dregs of the drugged punch still moved sluggishly | in his blood. : | Now he and Peter were in his London fedeinas |fat on the carpet, and as his fingers gripped |Peter’s throat he heard the laughter of Kitty jTrtimmer. And now they were on the brick floor jof a wine-shop in Kingston, and Peter’s face jwas like a purple bladder. Now he was in the open boat, his fingers still pinched deep in Queery’s jthroat—and Queery was dead. He laughed in that lifeless, hideous mask, |then loosed his cramped fingers and raised his own face to the sky. The stars were gone, and the whole arc of heaven was awash and pulsing Iwith fearful, piers ae Burnham rose to ‘c comlichooks.com