Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, April 1921 · page 5 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #19 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a **personal essay/column**, not a political cartoon. It's titled "Drippings From the Fawcett"—likely authored by the magazine's editor or owner discussing the publication's modest early success. The piece describes the author using profits from *Whiz Bang* magazine to purchase property in Minnesota. He visits the cabin with hired help and meets the French-Canadian caretaker, Fred La Page. The humor is **conversational and domestic**: the author humorously notes his disappointment at finding no cat on the property, then explains his general dislike of cats stemming from owning a "pedigreed" Persian kitten. La Page's crude comparison—"A cat is like a woman"—that follows (purring when petted, scratching when angry) is the joke: an old-fashioned sexist quip typical of 1920s magazine humor, presented as folksy wisdom from a rustic character. The satire is **gentle**: poking fun at rural attitudes and the author's own cat prejudices rather than making sharp social commentary.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang 3 Drippings From the Fawcett The Whiz Bang has been selling rather fair since Christmas, with the result that I was able to scrape together a few hundred bucks to make first payment on a log cabin at Pequot, Minnesota, and 80 acres of cut-over pine land on the shore of Big Pelican Lake. Accompanied by Gus, the hired man, and Andy (not Gump), an oldtime timber cruiser, I journeyed to the northland to view the future summer home of the Whiz Bang. Upon arriving at the cabin, we were met by Fred La Page, a typical French-Canadian of the old school, and Mrs. La Page. All arrangements were gone through and I was well pleased with the outlook except-ing for the lack of a cat. Now, it may seem strange that an ordinary household pet like a cat should in any way be considered, but really, friends, I was somewhat disappointed in not finding Tabby. Ever since the Persian kitten of pedigreed fame entered into my life, I have had a natural antipathy for the felines. La Page's excuses for not having a cat were apparently sound logic. “A cat is like a woman,” he said. “She purrs when petted, and scratches and spits venom when things go wrong. She must be con-